


I Know Places (We Won't Be Found)

by TheMipstaz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cunnilingus, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Dead Hales, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Dryad!Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Face-Sitting, Festivals, Fire, Folklore, Fox Kira, Full Shift Werewolves, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kitsune Kira Yukimura, M/M, Minor Liam Dunbar/Hayden Romero, Minor Violence, Nymphs & Dryads, Past Derek Hale/Paige, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Past Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolf Hunters, forest fire, full shift malia, kind of, kira also full shifts, minor boyd/erica/isaac, naiad!scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: In which trees and wolves fall in love, overcome fire, and survive ice.





	1. The Wolf, the Dryad, and the Fox

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest shout out to my love, my writing buddy, and my #1 cheerleader [Eli](http://mercuryraindrops.tumblr.com)! This fic would still be sitting untouched in my Google Drive if it weren't for her. As it is, 2+ years after starting, I'm finally posting this bad boy. Literally, this fic is so old that 1989 came out while I was writing it and "I Know Places" just happened to fit perfectly. 
> 
> Also, the Kira/Malia is going to be a pretty major side ship. So if that's not your thing, this is your final warning. 
> 
> Tags and rating will be updated each chapter as needed. Everything is prewritten, so I'm hoping to update once per week. If I've missed any tags, please don't hesitate to let me know. Come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com).

Pained, glazed green eyes blinked slowly against bone-deep exhaustion. Weary paws, blacker than night and just as deadly, dragged on the ground. Their owner struggled to continue walking, muscles screaming in protest. A black nose, dry and cracked, bumped the ground every so often, too tired to be lifted higher. Lungs heaved rasping breaths as the wolf raised his head to gaze at great forest before him that marked the end of his long journey. Although, that might have been more due to the fact that he couldn’t drag himself any further than because he reached his actual destination.

His ears perked up at the cacophony of nighttime noises coming from the undergrowth: fairies chittering, owl feathers rustling, a sly fox padding on soft paws. Then, at last, the wolf’s shaking legs gave out beneath him. His eyes closed before he hit the ground, not even conscious to feel the hard packed dirt meet his muzzle.

At the thump, every creature in the forest froze and listened hard. Slowly, the vixen from before crept out of the brambles protectively circling the woods. Her nose twitched, intelligent eyes darting to and fro, before she dared to approach the massive wolf. Prodding at him cautiously with a paw, she let out a sharp bark when he didn’t stir. The scent of blood reached her nose and she whimpered quietly, noting the wolf’s gaunt ribs and matted fur.

The forest seemed to sway in answer, the susurrus of a breeze whistling through the trees. It sounded very much like a put upon sigh.

* * *

When Derek’s eyes fluttered open, an unfamiliar and musky smell filled his nose. With a startled yelp, he jerked backwards. His wobbly paws scrambled for purchase on the carpet of leaves covering the forest floor.

The vixen watched him with thinly veiled amusement. Her fluffy tail, lazily curled around paws, flicked back and forth. Dark brown eyes watched him stumble on kitten-weak legs. Her ear twitched in a silent laugh, head tilting cheekily.

A quick inhale told Derek that she was more than an ordinary fox; she was a shapeshifter like himself, her scent a mixture of human and vulpine. But more than anything else, it was the slight taint of magic that every humanoid had embedded into their skin and very being—the magic that allowed them to melt from one body to another.

Realizing he wasn’t in immediate danger and no longer high on fear-fuelled adrenaline, Derek felt his exhaustion crashing back like a pile of bricks. He sank to the ground, panting and tongue lolling. Shallow breaths rattled his thin frame.

Expression sobering, the fox rose to her feet. Derek glanced at the indentation in the leaves she left, purposeful paw marks creating a shallow nest, and realized that she had been laying next to him and watching over him as he slept. Speaking of which, Derek looked around. They were no longer on the outskirts of the forest, the last thing he remembered. Instead, tall, thick boughs circled the small clearing they were in. The green canopy left dappled sunspots on the ground.

The vixen trotted the edge of the open area, pausing to look at him over her shoulder with her brown eyes blinking expectantly. Nodding, Derek hauled himself to his feet. He figured that she’d had plenty of time to kill him if that had been her goal. It wasn’t trust, exactly, but it wasn’t distrust either. Slowly, he limped toward her on aching paws.

When he reached her side, she pressed closer, nose brushing his shoulder kindly. He snuffed her ear in thanks and leaned on her slight, but sturdy frame as they made their way through the forest. Derek allowed her to guide him and let his other senses branch out curiously.

The woods hummed in his ears, life pulsing through the air. The ground rasped with tiny scampering feet, and the tree leaves whispered as a lucky bird found its morning meal. He felt the intrigued eyes of a timid gnome, but, when Derek turned over his shoulder to look, he saw nothing. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but relax as the contentment of the place washed over him.

The vixen nudged him lightly to get his attention. Derek turned his gaze forward once more, ears alert. The narrow path had led them to another glade that looked similar to the first, but Derek could feel the power radiating from it. It was the very heart of the forest, where every plant and animal drew its life force from. It also probably housed the forest’s guardian.

Lowering his eyes deferentially for a moment, Derek followed the fox forward. At the center of the clearing sat a willow tree, the shortness of its sweeping branches displaying its young age. The great extent of its root system belied its youthful appearance. The roots spanned nearly the whole glade, tufts of soft moss splotching the wood that curled and knotted along the ground.

Nose twitching at the musty scent, Derek watched with rapt attention as the slender trunk began to shift and move. The bark stretched and pulled away from the tree, creaking with the strain as a body and two legs began to take shape from the malleable wood. Soon two arms and a head joined them as well, adding to the half-formed humanoid creature.

At last, the syrupy wood detached itself completely from the willow before the finer details of the creature refined themselves. The rough bark smoothed into pale, if a little greenish at first, skin; the smattering of leaves that had sprouted on the thing’s head melted into dark hair; high cheekbones and a cupid’s bow mouth emerged; amber eyes framed with delicate lashes opened. A slightly upturned nose bloomed into existence, twitching as the being took its first breath.

The wolf couldn’t help a shiver of awe as the dryad took its humanesque form. He’d, of course, heard stories of the forest spirits. But he’d never seen one for himself. They were said to be shy and skittish, hard to catch sight of.

When the transformation was complete, he—for it was most definitely a he, a very _naked_ he, Derek’s mind unhelpfully supplied—opened and closed his jaw a few times, as though making sure it worked. Then he knelt down and playfully grinned, “Hey, Kira, how you been?”

With a bark of delight, the vixen launched herself at the dryad, who laughed as she proceeded to give him a thorough tongue bath. Perplexed, Derek tilted his head. This was not what he’d expected from the dryad of the forest, a spirit that Derek’s kind had always revered and considered the most sophisticated of nymphs.

Once the fox was satisfied, the dryad plopped down on the leaf strewn ground. Kira still joyously danced around him on nimble paws. “So,” he said, finally turning his amber gaze to the wolf, “you’re the nightcrawler everyone’s been harping on about. I’ve never seen one of you in the flesh before. I’d almost started wondering if you were just a myth.”

His light eyes drank in Derek, who abruptly felt self-conscious of his haggard state. His tail swished nervously. His nostrils flared at the springy, earthy scent of the dryad. He supposed that made sense, but there was something else, a deliciously sweet undertone laced with the mossy smell. It was heady.

“You can sit,” the dryad gestured to the ground as he noticed the wolf’s trembling legs. “I know you’ve had a long journey.” So Derek sat back on his bony haunches, doing his best not to hunch his shoulders and cower under the dryad’s gaze. He lifted his chin defiantly.

“Will you change back for me, wolf?” When Derek resolutely did nothing in response, the dryad’s lips quirked up as if he hadn’t expected any other answer. “Fine. I guess I can wash you just as well in that form.” He scritched the fox under her chin affectionately. “Thanks for looking after him, Kira. I can take it from here.”

The vixen leaned into his touch, nuzzling his hand once more before bounding off into the trees.

The dryad stood, brushing off clinging dirt, and made his way to Derek, whose ears flattened against his head. Derek bared his teeth in a silent warning. “Relax,” murmured the forest spirit in a soothing voice, upturning his palms placatingly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. As long as you’re here with me, you’re safe.”

The wolf eyed him warily, lip refusing to lower and cover his fangs.

“Nightcrawler,” the dryad continued patiently, “I just thought you might wanna wash up. There’s a stream east of here, and I’m friends with the naiad there. I’m sure Scott would be happy to let you clean up.”

After hearing Stiles’ heartbeat remain steady, Derek lowered his hackles slowly and nodded his assent.

“What’s your name?” the dryad asked curiously. “I know you don’t want to change back just yet, so may I?” He reached out a hand, which was glowing a soft green with his ethereal magic.

Derek deliberated but nodded. In all the old stories, dryad magic was some of the purest magic out there. He closed his eyes as the dryad fingers brushed his pelt and his power touched Derek’s mind.

_My name is Derek. I’m a wolf of the night. Who are you?_

“Derek,” the nymph rolled the name around on his tongue, smiling at how it felt. “I’m the dryad of this forest, its protector, in case you haven’t yet figured that out. As for my name, dryad language is ridiculously hard to pronounce with a human or wolf tongue like you wouldn’t believe, so you can just call me Stiles.”

The wolf nodded, pulling away from Stiles’ outstretched hand and severing the connection.

“Alright, Derek, let’s go see about that bath.”

* * *

Scott, as it turned out, was not quite as magnanimous as Stiles had made him out to be. “But, Stiles,” whined the river spirit, giving Derek a dirty look, which the wolf shot right back, “look at him. He’s filthy. It’ll take ages to get his fur and blood out of my currents. And Allison won’t come back if she thinks I’m polluted.” He pouted, eyes growing wide and pathetic as he begged.

Derek snorted, while Stiles coaxed, “C’mon, Scotty. Out of the goodness of your watery heart? Please? I’ll even help you clean up afterwards. I swear Allison’ll never notice.”

“Fine,” huffed Scott at last, sighing—in Stiles’ personal opinion—very dramatically. He slipped off the bank and into the water. Derek had been wondering if nymph nudity was a thing, but Scott and his swim trunks obviously debunked that assumption. “Get your wolf over here.”

Derek growled at that, curling his lip. He was _no one’s_ wolf.

Stiles laughed, sitting down beside Derek to dangle his feet in the water. “Dude, he’s not a pet. He’ll probably bite you just for suggesting that. I told you already, he’s a nightcrawler, a wolf shifter.” Without thinking, he reached for a particularly bad mat in Derek’s fur, but the wolf snapped his teeth at him with a pointed glare. “Alright, alright,” Stiles put his hands up in surrender. “No touching, I got it. Sheesh. Just trying to help here.”

The wolf leveled him with a glare that could curdle milk, but the dryad just grinned and nodded toward the brook. “Are you going to wash up or what?”

Derek eyed the swift water uneasily, but only gave himself a couple heartbeats of hesitation before plunging in. The river hadn’t looked too deep where he aimed, but his paws scrabbled and slipped on the loose stones at the bottom and couldn’t find purchase. Buffeted by the icy current, Derek’s head went under with a startled yelp.

He barely had time to panic before the water suddenly froze in a standstill. Two strong arms wrapped around his middle, hauling him upward. Derek burst through the surface and thrashed blindly. His lungs couldn’t seem to decide whether they wanted to breathe first or hack up the water he’d swallowed. He settled for spluttering and flailing wildly, fighting for air.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted, squinting against the spray Derek threw up with his writhing. “Derek, calm down, it’s okay! Scott stopped the river.”

Panting, Derek stilled in Stiles’ arms and glanced around. Sure enough, the whole section of the stream had become motionless like a pond, faintly humming with the naiad’s power.

“C’mon,” Stiles said, arms tightening around the wolf as he hefted Derek more securely in his arms, “let’s go to shallower water.”

Derek grudgingly allowed himself to be carried, deciding his liked the way the water gently brushed through his thick fur and flushed away the grime and dirt. “Okay?” Stiles asked as he set Derek down in shallows with firmer mud underfoot. Derek nodded. The water came up to about his shoulders. “I’m going to wash you now,” Stiles told him, carefully reaching for Derek’s pelt.

Derek tensed instinctively at the prospect of the unfamiliar touch. Grooming was intimate, an act reserved for mates and pack. But nimble fingers were already working open the knots in his fur before Derek could react.

And Derek, well he didn’t exactly hate it. In fact, he didn’t hate it at all. He made sure to growl occasionally when Stiles pulled too hard on a particularly stubborn snarl. It was a weak attempt to soothe his riled pride and ruffled dignity after being saved like a damsel in distress. But, in reality, it was all he could do to stop from melting into a big puddle of goo.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done this for him. No, that was a lie; he did remember. It was his mother. Over ten years ago. Biting back a low whine, Derek let his eyes flutter shut and forced himself to relax into Stiles’ gentle touch. It didn’t take much effort.

Stiles could scarcely hold back a triumphant grin.

Scott just rolled his eyes.

They soon built a rhythm with Stiles’ deft hands methodically combing through his coat, and Derek rumbling in contentment. Stiles massaged his paws next. The river washed away the dried blood from his cracked pads. His muscles loosened of their own accord while he basked in the pleasant wash. The soft swishing of water, the steady thump of the dryad’s heart, the faint traces of Stiles’ sweet scent; it all swirled into one calming melody.

Though, Derek definitely could’ve done without Scott’s dark mutterings of, “How could this much this dirt _possibly_ come from one person?” and “If Allison doesn’t come back, I’m killing you, Stiles.”

Dutifully ignoring Scott’s complaints, Stiles eventually said, “Okay, I think that’s it, Derek.” He resisted the urge to unnecessarily comb through the silky smooth fur one last time. After all, he’d already done that, like, ten times if he was being honest.

Opening his eyes—gods, when he had he even let them slip shut? Now wasn’t that a terrifying thought?—Derek nodded his thanks. Trying to ignore his wilting disappointment, he splashed his way back to dry land with Stiles at his side. The nymph let out a loud protest as Derek shook himself out, spraying droplets everywhere. The corner of Derek’s mouth smugly curled up in the canine equivalent of a smirk.

“Thanks, Scotty,” Stiles chirped. “Tell Allison I say hi.”

The naiad grumbled something about filthy wolves and needing a new best friend. “And put on some pants!” shouted Scott at the wood sprite and wolf’s retreating backs. “We’re not heathens. And if Allison makes a surprise visit, she doesn’t need an eyeful of that!”

“C’mon, she would love a piece of this, huh, Derek?” Stiles gestured to himself with a wink.

Derek simply rolled his eyes while the dryad laughed.

* * *

Derek was exhausted again, but a good kind of exhaustion this time. It didn’t stem from being on the move for days at a time or lack of food or water. Instead, the heaviness of his eyelids was coupled with satisfaction at finally being clean and knowing that he would sleep well that night. Of course, that was assuming Derek didn’t spend hours hemming and hawing over the fact that the heady scent of a nature spirit he’d just met made him want to roll onto his back and beg for belly rubs like some kind of lapdog. Yeah, now that he thought about it—which was probably his first mistake—it seemed like a pretty big problem. Then Derek let out a jaw-cracking yawn, whining a bit and smacking his lips. Nope, just kidding; he was so ready to crash.

“Are you hungry?” Stiles asked idly from his spot at Derek’s side. “I think I could eat before we nap.” They had meandered aimlessly through the trees, and Derek doubted if Stiles actually had any destination in mind.

A while back, after rummaging around in the hollow trunk of an old tree and grousing for a few moments, Stiles had produced some simple pants and undergarments. “Scott hangs around humans too much for his own good,” he’d mumbled while slipping them on. “If he ever tries to claim I don’t love him, just remind him that I put on these evil leg traps for him,” Stiles had added to Derek, who’d just snorted. Then, like a second thought, he added, “Remind me to ask Allison to get you some clothes too. If I can’t let it all just hang out _au naturale_ , neither can you, buddy.”

He suddenly stopped walking, so Derek stopped as well. Stiles plopped himself down, and he was glowing again. A gentle yellow light emanated from his palms. His amber eyes closed in concentration.

“Hey,” he said conversationally despite no one being near them, “could you all move please? I’d really love to have a little clearing here, if you don’t mind.”

Derek had to bite back a startled yelp as the trees nearest them began to sway and shift. Involuntarily taking a few steps nearer to Stiles, Derek’s eyes widened as the foliage around them began to wade through the dirt like it was water and move further away from them. Even the small shrubs crawled off to the side. This left a clearing with a radius of a good twenty feet or so. The rumpled dirt left behind smoothed over as soft, springy moss rapidly sprouted to cover the ground like a carpet.

“Thank you.” Stiles’ eyes fluttered open and he grinned at Derek’s shocked face. “Neat, huh? You’d be surprised how far manners can get you around here.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Now, let’s see about food.” His human fingertips suddenly began to grow darker, lengthening and narrowing until five organic claws sprouted from his fingers. They tapered like claws, but seemed to be made of wood, the tough brown fibers melting seamlessly back into human skin near Stiles’ palm.

Derek realized they were roots when Stiles buried them in the ground. The claws then detached themselves as Stiles pulled his hand away to reveal five brand new saplings buried in the ground where his fingers had been. His hand, human and whole once more, cupped the first growth comfortingly as Stiles breathed on it and whispered, “C’mon, little guy, help me out here. Don’t be shy. **Grow**.”

Derek’s fur prickled at the power in the dryad’s voice. It made his own claws itch.

At once, the plant began to rapidly expand, roots burrowing deeper and leaves sprouting higher until a mature bush laden with plump strawberries had flourished into being. Stiles repeated the same process with each of his saplings until the saccharine scent of ripe fruit reached Derek’s nose.

“I hope nightcrawlers like fruit,” winked Stiles as he plucked the nearest apple and bit into it. The sweet juice dribbled down his chin as he moaned appreciatively, licking the stickiness from his slender fingers. “This trick never gets old.”

Derek felt his ear tips grow hot as he ducked his head and tried to distract himself with the raspberries littering the ground. It didn’t help much.

* * *

 The next several days passed rather uneventfully in Stiles’ opinion. For a renowned supernatural beast of legend, Derek sure didn’t do much. Unparalleled mystique and majesty, Stiles’ woody ass.

Stiles had decided to leave the wolf alone for a bit, give him some space to acclimate. Their only points of almost contact had been when Stiles had taken to leaving bushels of various fruits near the wolf’s nest on the far side of Stiles’ clearing. He hadn’t been sure how the gifts would be received, but they were devoid of fruit every morning when Stiles went to check.

He and his trusty espionage fox, Kira, kept a close eye on the newest member of their forest, but so far it was a fat lot of nothing. Mostly sleeping; drinking at the river; growling at Scott, who suspiciously eyed him at aforementioned river; and eating. Basically, Derek avoided everyone and everything like the plague unless it was the poor squirrel that ended up his afternoon snack.

About a week later, Stiles finally cracked and vocalized his grievances after a particularly captivating hour of watching Derek sleep. Kira chittered her chastisement. Cuffing his upside the head, she glared at him.

“But he’s not _doing_ anything,” Stiles all but whined, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head where she’d whacked him with a paw. “He shows up out of the blue nearly dead, doesn’t breathe a word about why or how, and practically ignores us altogether even though—” He quickly bit his lip. It seemed presumptuous to try and claim that Derek trusted Stiles already. The way he’d seemed content to let Stiles groom his fur at the river could’ve been a fluke or just Stiles reading the signs wrong. Something in his chest twinged at the unpleasant idea, but he shoved it down. “Even though we’ve bathed, fed, and housed him. The least he can do is shift back and give us some answers.”

A curious shadow danced on the outskirts of where they were talking, just out of sight. Neither one noticed.

Huffing, Kira impatiently thumped the ground with her tail as her eyes began to faintly glow orange. Although she was a born shifter, she’d never quite managed the transition as seamlessly as she knew kitsunes were supposed to. Of course, that probably had something to do with the fact that she’d been abandoned in his forest as a child and never had a proper teacher. Stiles was smart, but no amount of intelligence could truly replace firsthand experience. As a result, Stiles tended to supplement her lack of control with his own power. He acted as a sort of catalyst to help her along with the transformation whenever Kira wanted to trade skins.

The same went for her heightened senses. Without an instructor to hone her sense of smell or hearing, Kira’s were barely stronger than a human’s.

Derek’s ears pricked in surprise at the strong scent of magic coming from the fox. He cautiously kept his distance, strategically downwind, but gazed intently at them. He’d been wondering if the fox would ever shift. He tilted his head as he saw Stiles place his hand on her shoulder before she began to change. How curious.

Once Kira shed her orange and white fur in favor of her soft human form, she straightened up and promptly whapped Stiles sharply on the arm.

“Ow!” Stiles danced away from her, cradling his stinging appendage with a dirty look. “What was that for?”

“For being an uncompassionate ass,” she sniffed. She crossed her arms over her bare chest and glared at him. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve been actively trying to get to know him either.”

Stiles scowled at this not inaccurate accusation.

“He’s just getting used to things,” said Kira firmly. “He’ll come around.”

“Sometimes, he acts like a monster is going to jump out and try to kill him at any given moment. Like, really paranoid. What does Deaton call it? Hyper-vigilance?”

“He acts like a survivor,” Kira commented quietly.

Derek’s breath caught in his throat, heartbeat ratcheting up.

That remark had Stiles checking himself. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, lost for words. Kira patiently waited for him to get his whirring thoughts in order. “He didn’t just come here for shits and giggles,” Stiles finally concluded.

She nodded. “He was running away from something. You saw the state he was in; he’s healing, Stiles. Give him time. He’ll come to us when he’s ready.”

“Yes, because he’s such a sociable creature,” Stiles snorted, plopping down to lean his back against a tree that helpfully slid a bit to the right. But he couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling pooling at the pit of his stomach.

The wolf’s lip curled a little at Stiles’ contemptuous words. Something ugly and bitter welled up inside Derek, easily stamping out the cautious affection that the last two weeks had nurtured. It stung more than he expected.

Suddenly Derek hated himself for caring so much about what Stiles thought of him. It shouldn’t matter, yet here he was flinching at Stiles’ derisive attitude. More upset than he was willing to admit, Derek decided he didn’t want to hear anymore and stormily slunk off. His tail flicked irritably.

“He’s been through a lot,” Kira pointed out gently, sitting down as well and pulling her knees to her chest. “Did you see the scars on his pelt? Those weren’t regular marks like claws or teeth; they were burns.”

“And bullet wounds,” Stiles agreed grimly. “I don’t know if he has a death wish or what, upsetting humans like that. Everyone knows to either avoid or cooperate with them, not piss them off. We lucked out that the Beacon Hills humans are so friendly.”

Kira just shrugged. She was young, much younger than Stiles was. However, that wasn’t a difficult feat, for Stiles was a forest spirit and aged with his tree. The oldest dryads were rumored to be millennia old, their vast roots said to spread over hundreds of acres.

“Just take it easy on Derek,” Kira said, clambering to her feet and stretching her newly human limbs. “I have a good feeling about him.”

“You had a good feeling about that pet skunk too,” Stiles pointed out dryly, amusement bleeding into his tone. “Remember how well Cooper worked out?

“Oh my gods, you’re never going to let that go are you? I was a kid and apologized, like, a hundred times after it happened!” Kira flushed with embarrassment, turning on her heel to stalk away from him.

“We smelled for weeks, Kira,” Stiles called after her, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “None of the other creatures would come near us.” After her footsteps had faded out of earshot, Stiles couldn’t help but mull over her words. “Give him a chance, huh?”


	2. Loose Lips Sink Ships All the Damn Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite boys talk about their feelings and shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Princess Mononke is my favorite Studio Ghibli movie and yes I couldn't resist putting some of my favorite lines into this fic. I am weak. So be on the look out for that. Also, the malira is coming soon I promise. 
> 
> Finally, thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos! It's been a while since I've posted, so every single one absolutely makes my day and makes me giddy with excitement to post the next chapter for you guys. 
> 
> P.S. You know how instagram has "prime" hours to post pics. Does AO3 have that too? Like I think I'm going to post on Saturdays, but are Saturdays actually the worst AO3 days to post? Are prime days/hours even a thing???

“That fox,” Stiles started at the soft voice and whirled around, “she’s yours.”

Before him stood probably the most beautiful human being Stiles had ever seen in his life. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t actually seen that many humans up close and personal—Beacon Hills, the nearby human village, was relatively small and that was more Scott’s department anyways, what with the falling in love with a human girl and everything—but that didn’t negate the gorgeousness of the man gazing at him right now.

At first glance, he seemed nothing like the night black wolf that Stiles had grown used to. His skin was only a little darker than Stiles’. Lean muscle tightly wrapped over his limbs. His ribs still jutted out too prominently for Stiles’ liking. His hair was dark, from the messy tousle on top of his head to the generous dusting on his chest, forearms, and legs to the tantalizing trail below his navel. Stiles personally didn’t care much about his own nudity and found himself casting a quick glance at Derek’s cock—and damn if it wasn’t a nice one—before realizing that Derek might not share the same sentiment. He snapped his eyes back up to eye level with an incriminating flush on his cheeks.

And dear gods, Stiles was not prepared for the myriad of colors suddenly gazing him. Flecks of blue and gold swam in stunning emerald. Stiles mouth was suddenly dryer than Scott’s creek during that one awful heat wave last year.

So naturally, Stiles did what any sane human—er, nature spirit—would have done when being faced with a wolf that had just transformed into a drop dead sexy man for the first time since knowing each other: he flailed. Hard.

“Holy shit!”

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow—talk about unfair; even his freaking _eyebrows_ were flawless—arched as Derek stared down at Stiles, who now lay spread eagle on the ground.

“I know what you’re thinking: ‘dear gods, it takes skill to fall flat on one’s back with no external stimuli whatsoever.’” Stiles sat up and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “Unless you count Adonis-like, naked nightcrawlers-turned-men standing around and blinding people with their beauty like nobody’s business as a stimulus.”

The eyebrow only rose higher, but Stiles could’ve sworn Derek’s cheeks looked a little pink. It was adorable, damn it. Has he mentioned the unfairness of it all yet?

“And if I’m being honest, that didn’t sound like a question.” Stiles continued, backtracking to process what Derek had originally said.

“It wasn’t,” Derek admitted with a shrug, blinking those eyes full of brilliant galaxies that Stiles wanted to spend hours memorizing. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Derek’s eyes when he was a wolf, so maybe it was the sharp cheekbones and faint stubble setting them off. “She **is** yours, your pack.”

Pausing to think about it, Stiles slowly nodded. “Yeah, I guess I can see where you’re coming from. We’re pretty close. I mean, I basically raised her, but ‘parent’ sounds too weird. So she sort of sees me as an older brother of sorts. Or close friend that taught her how to walk. Does that make any sense at all?”

Derek tilted his head, radiant eyes clearly asking for the story behind all that.

“Here,” Stiles flicked his wrist and up sprouted a thick carpet of soft grass around them, “sit?”

Hesitating only a moment, Derek slowly lowered himself to settle amongst the green stalks. He resisted the anxious urge to shift, knowing he might yet need a set of lips and a tongue capable of forming human words.

“A while back,” Stiles said, “a couple of strange humans found their way here. Usually, it’s rare that they ever make it this far without a local telling them to beat it. But anyways, these two somehow slipped under the radar and were stupid enough to come here.” Here, his tone hardened into something dangerous that had Derek shivering. “They left trash in Scott’s river, cut down my trees, and treated nothing with respect. Like most humans, they tainted everything they touched.”

Pausing, Stiles eyed him with an unreadable expression. His gaze flicked over the obvious scar tissue covering a considerable amount of Derek’s skin. He had felt the rough burned patches when bathing Derek as a wolf, but without the fur, they were more conspicuous. Stiles knew the wounds must have been horrific for nightcrawler healing abilities not to fix it in the blink of an eye. He shuddered to think of what the injuries had looked like before. “I feel like you know what I’m talking about.”

Derek stiffened, just barely resisting the urge to uncomfortably fidget under the scrutinizing look, but slowly nodded. “They killed my family and stole my home.” His voice remained steady, but barely.

Stiles narrowly avoided dropping his whole fucking jaw on the ground. Did he hit his head somewhere and wake up in a parallel universe where he managed to pry a piece of personal information from Derek, whose taciturn nature was rivalled only by rocks and other inanimate objects? Somebody better mark this on a calendar somewhere because Stiles was 500% sure this would never happen again.

But all sarcasm and witty rejoinders aside, and Stiles had a lot, he was heartbroken to realize just how unsurprised he was at the confession. After all, the heavy scarring and the neurotic jumpiness didn’t exactly indicate a past full of rainbows and unicorns. Even so, seeing it coming didn’t soften the blow.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said softly. He hemmed and hawed for a few moments before adding, “Is that how you ended up here?”

“It happened a long time ago.” Derek seemed to gather his courage, hands tightening into fists. “I’ve been running ever since.”

Stiles bit his lip hard to prevent himself from blurting out something inappropriate like, _Will you stop now?_ or _How can I convince you to stay?_ He hardly knew the guy—wolf, whatever—so he shouldn’t be so desperate to make sure that vulnerable, eviscerated look on Derek’s face never returned. But _shouldn’t_ had never stopped him before.

Swallowing despite his abrupt case of cottonmouth, Stiles continued his tale. “Anyways, I guess you can understand what I did next. When I caught those humans defiling my forest, I kind of lost my shit. They threw their baby at my feet as they ran away, so I took Kira and raised her as my own. I couldn’t punish an innocent kid for the actions of her parents.”

“But you said they were human,” Derek pointed out, confused, “and Kira isn’t.”

Stiles didn’t miss the absolute relief in his voice as the spotlight left Derek and his shady past. But the dryad did make a note to return to that subject, no matter how touchy.

“When I realized she was a shifter, I wondered why humans had her at all. I’ll probably never know and Kira was too young to remember.” Stiles shrugged. “My only guess is that her biological parents couldn’t take care of her and had to give her up.” A fond look found its way on his face, his eyes alight with affection. “I don’t care much, honestly, because it brought her to me. All I know is that her birth parents made a terrible mistake.”

Derek honed in on the steady rhythm of the dryad’s heartbeat as he spoke of Kira. Something in the wolf’s chest ached fiercely at the absolute adoration in Stiles’ words, hinting at a bone deep loyalty similar to a werewolf’s pack bond. He quietly studied the forest spirit sitting across from him. The idea that pack wasn’t synonymous to blood kin seemed like a strange concept to Derek, whose family had been his pack and vice versa.

“Didn’t your pack have members that weren’t necessarily related to you?”

Derek shook his head. “No. They were all family or mates of family.”

“Family is more than just blood,” Stiles shot back sharply, bristling. “Scott and Kira are as much my family as my parents were.”

“I’ve heard of packs made of non-familial wolves,” soothed Derek, not missing the way Stiles had said “were” not “are.” His heart twisted in sympathy. “They’re not as common, but you’re right. Pack, family, they’re not made just of something as superficial as the blood in our veins. Loyalty and trust can be won anywhere.”

Mollified, Stiles leaned back a little. “So, Derek, now you’ve heard my story. Will you tell me yours?”

Struggling to get a handle on the jolt of fear that lurched through him, Derek’s reply was to slide into his wolf’s skin. Shaking out his thick black fur, Derek shot him a baleful glare and turned on his tail. As the green fronds swallowed him up, he couldn’t help but be grateful that Stiles couldn’t smell the shame and terror stinking up the place.

* * *

Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of the nightcrawler who had stumbled into his forest. He was uneasy to let such a powerful predator into his home, could feel the fear of the more skittish inhabitants of his forest. Even the young chimera that prowled in the west had disappeared a week after Derek’s appearance. After all, while nightcrawlers were known for their fierce loyalty, they were also renowned for their unparalleled strength and speed even amongst other shifters. But on the other hand, Stiles had taken one look at the pitiful creature Kira had found on the outskirts of his forest, and he had known he couldn’t let the wolf die.

If nothing else, Stiles had told himself, he didn’t want the wolf’s rank carcass polluting his woods.

Now, though, Stiles wasn’t sure what he thought. He never quite forgot Derek’s rude departure from last week. But at the same time, Stiles knew there was so much more to Derek than he had originally thought. Not just the obviously tortured past, but the longing in his voice when he had called Kira part of Stiles’ pack. Not for the first time, Stiles wondered why Derek seemed to be all alone when everyone knew nightcrawlers lived in tightly knit packs. There were so many things that should’ve sent off warning bells in his head. Yet Stiles couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the thought of Derek simply passing through.

Stiles sighed at the thoughts that were too heavy for this late at night. His bright amber eyes owlishly blinked at the dark form of Derek, nearly invisible in the shadows, at the deep rise and fall of his breaths. They were back in Stiles’ clearing, sheltered by his tree’s caress of branches and leaves. Though little moonlight broke through the willow’s curtain, Stiles could still feel it on his skin from the way it limned his bark.

His current form might be human-like, but he would always be a _hamadryad_ like both his parents were. He was inherently tied to his home tree whereas regular dryads were simply nymphs associated with the woods. If his tree died, so did he—that’s how intertwined they were.

Stiles tossed and turned restlessly. It was difficult existing in this form. Although Stiles thoroughly enjoyed things like eating and playing with Kira, insomniac nights like this reminded him why he sometimes didn’t bother detaching from his home tree. But drastic times called for drastic measures, and a strange, nearly dead wolf showing up on his doorstep definitely fit that criteria. Nevertheless, sleep had always eluded his human-esque body, leaving him cranky and tired in the morning. He was almost tempted to simply return to his tree for the night.

But Stiles couldn’t bear the idea of Derek possibly waking up in the middle of the night and finding himself alone. In spite of his less than cordial feelings toward the wolf and his churlish attitude, Stiles wasn’t an asshole. Well, not all the time anyways.

And something told him that Derek had already been alone for far too long.

Turning to glance at Derek, Stiles noticed that his coat looked so soft, and his fingers itched to reach out. He cursed his natural curiosity, unable to resist an opportunity to satiate his inquisitiveness. Scooting closer, he focused on memorizing the way Derek’s fur shone with renewed health. He didn’t notice the wolf stirring until two electric blue irises blinked up at him. The just as quickly flickered back to dark green, nearly black in the night. They shone brightly.

Stiles extended his hand in question, hovering over the wolf’s fur. Derek didn’t react, just continued to watch him, so Stiles held his breath and went ahead. He gently stroked the wolf’s broad flank. It was coarser than Stiles had been expecting, but as his hand drifted to Derek’s belly, it grew silky smooth. His fingers traced the protuberant bumps of Derek’s ribs, making the dryad frown.

Derek didn’t move, but his eyes gradually drifted back shut. Stiles smiled at the small sign of trust, pleased that the wolf was comfortable enough to fall asleep in Stiles’ presence.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Derek’s ear flicked in acknowledgement.

* * *

The next morning, Derek slowly drifted awake with a comforting weight anchoring him down. Blinking open his sleep-heavy eyes, the wolf couldn’t find it in him to be surprised at the dryad clinging to him like an octopus. Huffing in amusement, Derek paused to hear the steady beat of Stiles’ heart that assured the wolf that he was still out cold. Then he carefully nosed the dryad’s face away so he wasn’t drooling on Derek’s fur before lowering his head and allowing sleep to overtake him once more.

* * *

“What if she decided to dump me and didn’t bother to tell me, Stiles?”

“She’s crazy about you, Scotty. She didn’t break up with you.”

“What if she got kidnapped on her way here?”

“Stop pacing. Allison is probably just late. You know how her dad gets sometimes.”

“What if—”

“What if you just calmed down before you get an asthma attack or something?” interrupted Stiles, grabbing Scott by the arm and sitting him down on the river bank. He clapped Scott on the shoulder. “She’s coming. Be patient, dude. You guys have been together for what, two years now? You should be past the nerves. Have a little faith in her.”

“I do,” Scott insisted earnestly, “I do. I just worry.”

From where he lazed in the grass nearby, Derek snorted.

Scott shot him an annoyed look, which the large black wolf easily ignored. “What is he even doing here, Stiles?”

“Derek?” Stiles reached out to scratch the sweet spot on Derek’s belly. Derek’s chest rumbled contentedly, toes twitching. “He didn’t have anything better to do, so I dragged him with me.”

“But why?” Scott wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t he have sticks to fetch or something? He’s intruding on our bro time.”

Derek curled back his lip to bare his teeth, but Stiles could tell he was too comfortable to really think about getting up to bite Scott, who clearly didn’t think the same and inched away. “Is this what our friendship has been reduced to,” Stiles asked sarcastically, placing a hand over his chest in mock hurt,  “me waiting loyally by your side until you ditch me for your girlfriend?”

Eyes wide with distress, Scott began, “If you want me to cancel, I can—”

“No.” Stiles waved it away. Derek lifted his head a little, ears perked. “Go have fun, dude. I have Derek to keep me company. Look, there’s Allison.” Sure enough, a small figure crested the hill that separated Beacon Hills and the river. Allison waved one hand, using the other to shield her eyes from the midday sun.

Stiles gagged a little at the heart eyes Scott directed at her. Honestly, it was saccharine enough to give anyone cavities. Derek huffed in amusement.

“If you’re sure,” replied Scott doubtfully, eyes flitting from Stiles to Allison, but Stiles pushed him to his feet.

“Yes. Now go,” shooed Stiles. “I live vicariously through you, so go get ‘em, tiger.” For Derek’s benefit, Stiles added, “Allison is, obviously, Scott’s significant other. They’re, like, perfect, made-for-each-other-by-the-stars-and-cosmos soulmates, I swear. She lives over in the closest human town, Beacon Hills. Maybe you saw it when you first came here? I’ll have to take you into town sometime. The people are really nice to us supers, mostly because Allison’s dad is in charge. He’s from a big time hunting family, but now he’s on our side. He and his buddies make sure the humans know we’re harmless.”

“You pretend to be happier than you actually are.”

Stiles jerked in surprise at Derek’s out of the blue non sequitur, sitting up from where he’d been laying down to idly watch the clouds crawl in the sky. “What?”

“I don’t understand why. Is it for Scott?” Derek-the-now-naked-human glanced over at Stiles, who was mentally fist pumping that neither Scott nor Allison were here to chastise Derek’s lack of clothing. They just didn’t understand the merits of letting it all hang out, free as the day they were born. Scott used to, but all that time hanging around humans addled his brain in Stiles’ opinion.

“I’m not—I mean, I just—” stammered Stiles before shaking his head and firmly saying, “I am happy for Scott. I really am.”

“But?” Derek’s piercing green eyes watched him, calculating.

“How do you know there’s a ‘but’ at all?”

Derek raised one eyebrow and didn’t say a word.

Deflating, Stiles finally admitted, “Okay, so maybe I miss when Allison wasn’t Scott’s be all end all, but this is nothing compared to how he used to be when they first started dating. Back then, I could barely get in a word edgewise—me!—before he started vomiting some stupid poem comparing her hair to a chestnut waterfall or something. Honestly, this isn’t that bad.”

“Pain isn’t necessarily relative,” Derek insisted in a quiet voice, closing his eyes and turning away from Stiles. “Saying ‘it could be worse’ doesn’t make it not hurt.”

“It doesn’t,” Stiles agreed, words just as soft as he laid back down. The grass tickled the back of his neck as he stretched, starfishing out and arching off the ground a little until his back popped satisfyingly. Derek threw him a disgusted look over his shoulder. “But it makes it a little easier. If I know there’s someone out there who’s facing something worse than me, I feel like I can make it through my own less crappy life, you know?”

“You shouldn’t be so quick to downplay your own problems.”

“Probably not, but now I don’t need to bitch about Scott anymore.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth quirked up. “And why’s that?”

“Because now I have you.” Stiles held his breath after the confession, afraid of how the wolf would react. He determinedly continued to stare straight up at the sky.

Derek didn’t say anything, but Stiles blinked in surprise when he felt something touch his outstretched fingertips. Turning his head, he bit back a smile when he saw his and Derek’s hands barely brushing. Loosely hooking their pinkies together, Stiles gazed fixedly at where their hands linked, gnawing his bottom lip. In that moment, everything felt delicate and fragile—like one wrong look could shatter the trance, could obliterate this brief alternate universe where Stiles somehow held hands with an incredibly attractive werewolf without getting growled at.

The breeze whispered, the grass bent and waved, and the two of them stayed like that: a child of the moon and a child of the sun inexplicably bound together in a place shimmering with magic.

* * *

“Why do you trust me?”

 _Well, you haven’t tried to seduce me and/or murder my whole family **.**_ The dry, caustic words almost slipped from Derek’s mouth before he could stop them. But he bit his tongue just in time. He stopped walking and stared hard at Stiles, trying to parse out why he had brought up such an odd topic in the middle of their daily morning trip to a close tributary of Scott’s river to bathe.

It was about a month after the very first night that they had fallen asleep snuggled—“We weren’t snuggling, Stiles.” “You know, refusing to admit we snuggle doesn’t negate the fact that we snuggle.”—together. They hadn’t slept separately since. But neither had talked about it. It was just sort of tacitly implied that Stiles would curl up with Derek as the horizon slowly swallowed up the sun every night. Some evenings, he spent hours finger combing the wolf’s fur, which left Derek feeling like warm goo. Other nights, Derek contently rested his head on the dryad’s thigh as the latter meditated before going to bed.

“It helps me sleep if I spend a few hours trying to calm down,” Stiles explained once. Derek just nodded his acceptance, quiet green eyes gleaming in the twilight, even though it was strange to see his usually buzzing, flailing dryad so still.

And then there were the times when Derek would jerk awake, terrified and pulse hammering, to Stiles’ soothing voice murmuring sweet reassurances in his ears. The hushed whispers would wash away the deafening sound of roaring flames. The dryad’s sweet scent would drown out the acrid stench of smoke and gun oil. Stiles would usually stay up with him for the remainder of the night, scratching behind Derek’s pointed wolf’s ears and stargazing. Occasionally, he would fall asleep, but Derek didn’t mind. Stiles’ steady heartbeat was enough to keep him grounded, anchored to reality.

And the moon kept him company as usual.

Stiles never once asked about the nightmares, so Derek had been hoping to avoid this subject for as long as possible. No dice.

_“Why do you trust me?”_

A dozen answers existed to Stiles’ loaded question, not one of which made a remote amount of sense, who was Derek kidding? _You smell like crisp apples and vanilla and that earthy, it’s-just-rained scent, and I want to roll around in it._ Or, _You kick me in your sleep, but you also try to wake me up as soon as I start having a bad dream, so you must not be a total asshole._ Or, Derek’s personal favorite, _You make me want to stop running for the first time in years, and I don’t know what to do._

Instead of saying any of these things, Derek kept his mouth tightly shut and defensively crossed his arms over his bare chest. He’d learned the hard way that loose lips really do sink ships. Or, at least, they get everyone in your family killed.

Same thing, really.

“Okay,” Stiles backtracked quickly, hand raised in surrender, “maybe ‘trust’ is kind of strong. But based on the fact that we get our cuddle on every night, I’m getting this vibe that you don’t completely hate me.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Derek deadpanned without thinking.

Stiles startled for a moment before barking out a laugh. “Was that a bona fide joke? Ladies and gentlesprites, the wolf’s got humor!”

A pleased, warm feeling filled Derek’s chest at the rich sound, the satisfying scent of happiness emanating from the dryad. He uncrossed his arms.

“You saved my life,” Derek continued somberly. He was reluctant to spew out all of the reasons that wouldn’t make sense to Stiles, who, as a dryad, was driven less by instinct than a werewolf. He tried to keep his words logical and rational. “You didn’t have to take me in; you could’ve let me die, but you didn’t. I think _I_ should be the one asking about unfounded trust.”

“At first it was just because I didn’t want your dead body on my doorstep, but then I kept you around for your sparkling personality.” Stiles winked. “But seriously, you let me touch your coat. Like, a lot. From what I’ve heard, that’s not something taken lightly among wolves.” Stiles tipped his head questioningly, amber eyes bright with the morning light filtering through the forest canopy.

“It’s not,” admitted Derek, shuffling bashfully. “But I… If you wanted me dead or wanted to hurt me, you’ve had more than enough time to do it.” Stiles caught him red-handed, saw right through his crappy explanation, and both of them knew it.

“So anyone whose brain doesn’t immediately jump to homicide gets this special privilege, do they?”

“But you’re not just anyone, okay?” Derek ground his teeth, impatient at how hard it was to formulate his thoughts into proper words. He knew he hadn’t spoken English for a long time, but he also didn’t remember it being this difficult either. It scared him to say too much—to confess these half-formed, _what-if_ , _maybe_ feelings. It terrified him because he knew that, if he let them blunder on unchecked, he could easily see himself falling for Stiles.

But, for once, Derek was more worried about what would happen if he let this chance slip through his fingers.

“You’re this incredible person.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise.

“That acts like a total dick sometimes, but when you care about someone,” Derek desperately searched Stiles’ huge eyes as though they held words he sought, “it’s deep. When you decide someone is worth your time, you’ll move heaven and earth for them.” Stiles opened his mouth to interrupt, but Derek stalwartly plowed on. If he stopped now, he wasn’t sure he would be able to start again. “I see the way you look at Kira, like she hung the gods damned moon. And Scott, he’s your best friend. As much as you get annoyed when he talks about Allison,” here, Derek rolled his eyes because he sometimes wondered if Scott knew any discussion topics _besides_ his girlfriend, “you’re so happy that he’s found happiness.

“And you have this gods awful mouth that’s too smart for your own good,” the corner of Derek’s own mouth quirked up, the sentences flowing more smoothly now, “and a dagger-sharp tongue, both of which I have a feeling have gotten you in trouble more than once. But I think it’s because you’re so smart that your mind is always ten steps ahead and kind of leaves your brain-to-mouth filter in the dust.”

_And I think I might be a little bit in love with you, which is completely insane because 2 months is not long enough to fall in love._

Derek took a deep breath, heart pounding anxiously. Everything he’d just said, he couldn’t take back. “Do you want me to go on?”

“Waxing poetic about my flawless personality? Please do continue,” Stiles grinned, but Derek could hear the nervous stutter of his heartbeat.

“And you use humor to deflect from whatever the hell you’re actually feeling.” Derek couldn’t keep the slight annoyance out of his tone. “You think people don’t notice, that they’ll chalk it up to levity.”

Stiles resisted the urge to butt in with, “Is this the part where you reveal you’re secretly a licensed psychoanalyst?” and corroborate Derek’s point. Believe it or not, Stiles didn’t particularly enjoy people poking at his insecurities.

Stiles knew he was a loudmouth and clingy and annoying, okay? Scott was his best friend, so by default he **had** to put up with Stiles. Kira had grown up with it all and would probably have a small heart attack if Stiles tried to drastically alter his personality. Allison, of course, was too much of a sweetheart to say anything. Malia just didn’t give a flying fuck.

But around others, Stiles had noticed. How could he not? During his ventures into the human village with Scott, he saw the looks that Beacon Hills people shared when he inevitably spiraled onto one tangent or another. Supernatural creatures that came and went always seemed surprised to learn the great forest spirit was skinny and hyperactive. Stiles wasn’t an idiot; he just didn’t see the point in fighting his nature.

So, needless to say, nothing could’ve prepared Stiles for how Derek embraced all of these defects. It almost sounded like Derek was in love with him. Wasn’t that a crazy thought?

“Okay, so that was an admittedly impressive break down of my personality. Here, I’ll do you too: you like to pretend you’re this big, gruff, grumpy, I’m-too-cool-for-you wolf, but underneath it all you’re a marshmallow that just wants to be snuggled.” Stiles grinned at Derek’s reflexive scowl. “No, but I get it, alright? I like you too. Not that I don’t love Kira and Scott, but sometimes it’s nice to have a new face around.”

Derek slumped a little bit. So he was just something novel and enticing, a fresh body to string along until Stiles got bored? That sounded so much like Derek at sixteen years old, dumb and hopelessly infatuated with an older woman. It sounded like the beginning of a mistake that Derek had no desire to relive.  
“Not that you’re just a pretty face!” Stiles amended quickly, his expression mortified. “No wait, I meant a new face. Although, your face is exceedingly pretty, don’t get me wrong. Hold on, my point is that Scott has Allison and Kira has Malia. She’s not around much, but I’m, like, 85% sure Kira’s into her and 75% sure they’re banging; but that’s a conversation for another day. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you two. Just sometimes I feel kind of like a third wheel. Er, fifth wheel?”

Stiles paused for a second, honestly mulling it over, and Derek reigned in the urge to shake him by his shoulders to get on with it. Finally, Stiles added, “But yeah, it’s kind of nice to have someone that’s sort of… my own.” Whiskey-brown eyes blinked; an anxious smile tugged at Stiles’ lips.

And something in Derek’s chest sort of clicked together at those words. A wolfish sort of contentment at the idea of belonging, in some small way, to Stiles blossomed in Derek’s chest because that meant Stiles would give a bit of himself in return. It was a push and pull like the tide, balanced and right.

“So can we try this?” Derek kept his voice soft like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want this.

To Stiles, it sounded like Derek worrying about waking up any second and realizing it had all been a vivid dream—like Derek would glance down to see six fingers on one hand, blink, and everything would vanish. “Yeah,” Stiles replied quietly, heart pounding. “I’d like that.”

They had drifted closer throughout the conversation and now stood chest to chest. It pleased Derek to see that he only had an inch or so on Stiles. Leaning forward a bit, he rested one hand on Stiles’ hip and cupped the dryad’s face with the other. “Can I kiss you?” he breathed out, eyes zeroing in on Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles’ eyelids fluttered as he gazed through his lashes up at Derek. He swallowed, biting his bottom lip nervously. He covered Derek’s hand on his cheek and wrapped his other arm around Derek’s neck. “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

It was soft and chaste, a far cry from the fireworks or lightning that Scott swore by. It was simply a quiet kiss in a quiet part of the forest while the morning dawned bright and the birds greeted the sun.

But to Derek, who had grown used to the roiling guilt and hateful voices shouting in his head, it felt like peace. And he began to wonder if perhaps he deserved a little peace. It frightened him to think about, this idea that maybe the storm had come to an end.

“Wow, that was just a little gross. Sorry, A plus kissing, ten out of ten, would kiss again, but we seriously need to go brush our teeth, like, yesterday. I’m pretty sure I’ve got innocent rabbit blood in my mouth.”

He hid a blinding smile against Stiles’ neck, shoulders shaking with laughter. Derek decided that it didn’t matter if they had only found the eye of the storm. Even if more shit was on the way, that shouldn’t stop them from basking in the transient beauty of the moment.


	3. Full Moons and First Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys talk about their troubled pasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, especially the last scene. it's not my fav chapter, but it's definitely up there. thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented!

Needless to say, Derek’s first full moon utterly disappointed Stiles.

“What do you mean you don’t get all _grr_ and wolfy and stuff on the full moon?”

“What on earth is this,” Derek crudely imitated Stiles’ curled, “clawed” fingers and bared teeth, “supposed to mean?”

“You know,” Stiles waved a vague hand, “glowing eyes, the whole shebang.” Derek obligingly flashed his bright blue irises. “Okay, touché. What about the crazy, out of control muttonchops on the side of your face? C’mon, don’t hold out on me.”

Taking a moment to slip into his beta form, Derek patiently waited Stiles to clamber into his lap and _ooh_ and _ah_. Without thinking, Derek rested his hands snugly on Stiles hips. And if his chest rumbled contentedly as Stiles petted Derek’s sideburns, no one had to know.

“Why have you never showed me this before? This is awesome! Wait, where’d your eyebrows go?” Nonplussed, Stiles smoothed a hand over where they had mysteriously vanished.

Derek leveled Stiles with an unimpressed look. “I don’t know, Stiles. Does it really matter?”

“I guess not,” huffed the dryad. He sat back on his haunches and proclaimed, “You’re a boring wolf, you know that?”

Derek grunted noncommittally, not particularly bothered. He’d been called much worse things than boring. The weakening twilight sun slowly crept out of the glade to indicate night approaching. He took a deep breath, allowing his beta features to melt away on the exhale. The humming pull of the moon had simmered patiently on the backburner all day. Now Derek allowed himself to revel in the augmented sensation.

“Liam has a ton of kickass wolfy stories,” Stiles complained as he clumsily turned around to rest his back against Derek’s chest, nearly taking out Derek’s eye with a misplaced elbow while he was at it. “Like that time he went streaking and Mason, and Brett spent all night trying to catch him before he scarred anyone for life. Or when he brought Hayden a dead squirrel when they were, like, twelve. She _freaked_ out. Man, she still hasn’t forgiven him. After that, I think Mason started chaining him up on the full moons. Kinky, I know. I wonder if he still does.”

“You know another werewolf?” asked Derek, blinking in surprise as Stiles continued to rearrange their limbs to his liking. Derek hadn’t smelled any other wolves around.

“Oh yeah, I guess you haven’t met Liam yet,” Stiles realized, pausing for a moment before wrapping Derek’s arms tightly around his torso. “Remind me to introduce you guys sometime. He lives in Beacon Hills as part of Satomi’s pack. But the point is, why don’t you have any awesome wolfy anecdotes to share with me?”

A dozen visceral memories came hurtling to the forefront of Derek’s mind before he could think: scaling sharp-smelling pine trees with Laura in the woods around their house, picking on Cora with Peter only to get a clawed arm for his trouble, his Aunt Annette cradling Derek’s new baby cousin Kendra and smiling at them from that old rickety porch that squeaked every time someone on it moved, his parents howling in the early hours of the morning to call their rambunctious kids back home. Back then, a full moon had been a big celebration—a time for family and midnight romps and mile-high stacks of Uncle Pat’s famous blueberry pancakes the next morning. This all hit Derek like a punch to the face. It knocked the air out of his lungs and made his eyes sting.

“Derek?” Stiles glanced over his shoulder, nose brushing Derek’s cheek.

“The question you should be asking is why your friend can’t control himself on the full moons,” Derek shot back finally, barely managing to force the words out. He licked his abruptly dry lips. “What is he, a bitten wolf or something?”

“Um, yes.” Stiles leaned back a little to give Derek a weird look. “Are you _not_?”

“No.” Now Derek furrowed his eyebrows, successfully distracted from the maelstrom of painful memories currently trying to tear him apart. “I’m a born wolf. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never heard of bitten ones, but they’re not exactly common.”

“I dunno,” Stiles shrugged and began listing off on his fingers. “Liam, Satomi, Jackson, Erica, Boyd, Hayden, and Isaac are all bitten. I think Brett and Malia are born. Oh, and Kira, but she’s practically human. And not a wolf. Not sure why I included her, to be honest. Although I included Malia, and she’s a coyote so.”

Derek didn’t know who half of those people were, but, knowing Stiles, he would before long. Swallowing down the last of his grief and hauling himself together, Derek said, “Where I come from, there were hardly any bitten shifters. I met my first bitten after I started travelling. How does Beacon Hills have so many?”

For a split second, Stiles had half a mind to try his luck prying into Derek’s past. But then, he remembered they had, hopefully, plenty of time to learn more about each other but only one first full moon together. They shouldn’t tarnish it with a fight, and Stiles didn’t doubt that getting Derek to talk about his life before would be like pulling teeth.

“Deaton says it’s something to do with the natural ley lines and telluric currents in the area,” Stiles responded. “Like, they all converge right around here. Plus my forest has a ton of energy surging through it, so this whole place acts like a huge homing beacon to a lot of supernatural creatures. That’s probably how you ended up here too, you know.”

Derek nodded in agreement. “It was like some sort of invisible force drawing me here. I can’t explain it. But I don’t regret it.”

Stiles beamed brighter than the moon shimmering overhead. “Aww, you sappy wolf. I’m glad we met too.” He leaned in, but stopped halfway and looked questioningly at Derek, whose lips quirked up before he bridged the gap.

“So,” Stiles mumbled against his mouth, “do you wanna hear about the time that Jackson stole one of Isaac’s scarves and Erica totally whooped his ass?”

“Does this look like a face that doesn’t want to hear about Jackson stealing Isaac’s scarf?”

Stiles giggled in delight against Derek’s mouth before pulling away. He turned around to settle back-to-chest in Derek’s lap.

Lacing their fingers together and resting their hands on Stiles’ stomach, Derek leaned back against the tree behind him. Basking in the sweet smell of apples and spices, Derek quickly found his hands waving in the air as the dryad wildly gesticulated along with the story without bothering to let go of Derek’s hand.

“Okay, so Isaac and Erica and Boyd are the closest to each other. I mean, all the wolves are in Satomi’s pack, but these three are kind of their own clique within the pack. They’re best bros like me and Scott. Sometimes Scott swears they have some weird threesome thing going on, not that I’m judging. So anyways, Jackson’s a total asswipe…”

So maybe it wasn’t wrestling with his older cousin Jason in the woods or swimming in the creek with his baby sister Kathleen, but Derek couldn’t help but feel soothed all the same. This still beat the years spent hiding every full moon with Laura for fear of the hunters finding them. And it knocked the socks off the next few years during which Derek had been alone after a roaming alpha pack had killed Laura. He’d howled at the moon every month, as if heavens could somehow explain how he’d screwed up so badly when Derek himself didn’t even know.

Eyelids growing heavy, lulled by Stiles’ comforting voice, Derek nestled closer to the dryad. High above, the stars glimmered silently.

* * *

“How old are you?”

Derek paused, adding up the years that had passed since he and Laura had fled from his home at the tender age of fifteen and eighteen respectively. Then he tried to remember how many years had passed since Laura had died, ticking them on his fingers. “Twenty-six?” he guessed finally. “Around there, at least. How old are you?”

“One hundred and ninety-nine.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Derek sagely stared up at Stiles from where his head was in Stiles’ lap. “You can’t call me old anymore.”

“What else am I supposed to say when you complain about your joints in the morning like some four hundred year-old man?” protested the dryad, lightly tugging on Derek’s hair in retaliation.

“At least I don’t look like I’m thirteen.”

Stiles’ squawk of outrage drowned out the “oof!” Derek made when the dryad pounced on him.

* * *

“So you really like him, huh?” Scott sounded disappointed.

Stiles punched his best friend lightly in the arm. “Shut up, dude. He’ll grow on you, just wait.” But Scott didn’t miss the unbearably fond smile tugging at Stiles’ lips and felt happy for him anyways. So maybe Derek wasn’t the picture perfect significant other Scott had always imagined for Stiles, but—

“If he makes you happy,” shrugged Scott, “I’m all for him.”

“Yeah, he does.” Stiles’ voice was soft and sincere. “He really does.”

“Good. Now just tell him to be less of a douche.”

* * *

“Scott says you’re in love with Derek.”

“Scott needs to keep his freakin’ mouth shut.”

“So you _are_ in love with him?”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “I literally just met the guy, Kira.”

“It’s been 4 months,” she pointed out helpfully, then paused for a moment. “Wait, that wasn’t a no.”

“No,” Stiles said firmly. “But, I feel like maybe it could turn into…something. He feels special, Kira.” Malia scoffed from her spot at Kira’s side, and he turned to glare at her. “Got something to say?”

Malia snorted. “You sound like an idiot. Don’t be so quick to think with your dick.”

“What are you even doing here?” snapped Stiles. But something uncomfortable squirmed in his gut at Malia’s insinuation that what he and Derek had might not be as genuine as he thought it was. “Don’t you have rabbits to chase or something?”

Malia shot him a dirty scowl, then turned on Kira, who hid a snicker behind one hand. “Traitor,” the coyote huffed at her irritatedly before stomping off.

“No, wait, Malia!” Kira called after her helplessly, but she was gone. “Thanks a lot, Stiles.”

“What’s up with you and her anyways?”

Kira’s face turned bright red. “Up? Uh, nothing. Yeah, no, absolutely nothing. We’re friends?” she squeaked.

“Uh-huh,” grinned Stiles. “And I’m a fire-breathing dragon. Now spill.”

“I just,” Kira flailed. “There’s nothing there yet, not really. But it’s getting there. I hope? It’s a work in progress.”

Stiles nodded, satisfied. “Just don’t have sex in the same places as me and Derek.”

Kira choked and spluttered while Stiles cackled.

* * *

“Who was your first love?”

Derek shot Stiles a suspicious look, vibrant blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years, but he was still pretty sure this wasn’t a normal question to ask your significant other.

They laid side by side in a grassy clearing. The trees had obligingly shifted to leave a perfect window to see the stars. Stiles continued to stare straight up at the night sky. The meteor shower was due to start any second, and he wasn’t going to miss it on account of waiting for Derek to gather his bearings. Besides the last few months had taught him that the wolf liked to collect and organize his thoughts before carefully conveying them in words. Control; that was the word. Derek liked control, even over seemingly small things that Stiles would never think twice about.

“Who was yours?” Derek’s voice remained wary, like he sensed a trap and wanted to test it, expecting it to spring.

“Lydia Martin,” replied Stiles easily just as the first streak of white raced across the sky, gone in a wink. “Must’ve been… gods, has it already been 30 years? Before Kira or Malia. She was a banshee. Smart, beautiful, amazing strawberry blond hair like you wouldn’t believe. I never did find out why she bothered to stop at a dump like this.” Stiles knew it was a weird topic, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable talking about it because he was over Lydia. She left; Derek stayed. That was what really counted.

After living for so many years and witnessing the ephemerality of life, Stiles had come to appreciate the things he had in the present. He refused to waste his heart on a girl of the past while his future sat right in front of his nose.

Nevertheless, Stiles had grown so used to watching everything come and go that he thought it was a shame to dismiss something completely just because it had gone. He knew Scott, the romantic doofus, would probably murder Stiles for talking about Lydia in front of Derek. But Stiles couldn’t help but want to remember her. Not to make Derek jealous or anything stupid like that, but because who else would? Lydia was the kind of person who deserved to be timeless, even if it was only to him. Dryads were the long-lived recordkeepers of the world; if they forgot something, it would stay forgotten.

Derek blinked up to watch the blue, wispy tail of a particularly bright comet soar by. He felt a hint of envy and bitterness at Stiles’ reverent tone for this Lydia girl. Shoving it down, he matter of factly said, “Your forest isn’t a dump.” Stiles had said something self-deprecating things before, and Derek had frowned every time without fail.

How could someone as fascinating and intelligent and vivacious as Stiles not see all the good inside himself?

“To her it was.” The corner of Stiles’ mouth quirked up. “She was the kind of girl that you just knew was gonna take over the world someday. She was born in some tiny town down south, so I’m not surprised she didn’t like it here. Too insignificant for her taste. She’d grown up in a small place, so she already knew she was meant for bigger and better things than Beacon Hills. I’m pretty sure she had her whole life planned out down to the last second, and I…” Stiles worried his bottom lip, eyes melancholy but fond. “I wasn’t any part of it.” His tone sounded a lot less devastated than Derek had expected. Sad, sure, but not ruined like someone broken-hearted. He almost sounded proud.

“She was a dreamer, and her eyes would just light up when she talked about all the things she’d learned about and read in books. Magic and mythology and archaic Latin, all kinds of things. Lydia, she had this way of making you believe in all these aspirations that would’ve just sound insane coming from anyone else.”

Derek made a small noise of acknowledgement, doing his best to imagine this girl that had so effortlessly captured Stiles’ rapt attention.

“She was like a storm determined to bring the world to its knees. That’s what I remember most, that she was just this incredible force of nature,” sighed Stiles. “I was upset the day she left, even though I knew it was inevitable. She didn’t belong in a stagnant place like this; everyone knew it. It still hurt that she didn’t even leave a note.” Then Stiles huffed a small laugh, “But I think I’m sadder that I won’t be there to witness her world domination firsthand. If world hunger ever ends or someone finds a cure for cancer, I’d bet my firstborn child it was Lydia.”

Derek didn’t know how to feel at the raw emotion in Stiles’ voice. Obvious adoration warred with the bittersweet fact that these were all just memories and this wonderful Lydia was gone—off to lasso the moon, if you wanted to believe Stiles. Derek shook his head. She couldn’t be half as great as Stiles made her sound if she’d gone and abandoned him.

He gazed up at the dark blanket perforated with twinkling stars. Derek used the lull in the meteor shower to ponder how any sane person could have Stiles in the palm of their hand like that and somehow choose to let him go.

“But I didn’t love her. Not like you’re thinking of. Not like I think I could with you.”

Derek’s breath caught in his throat. He turned to stare at Stiles, who didn’t look back. His gaze stayed fixed above.

“Lydia was, like, something unattainable, you know?” Stiles stretched up his left hand up towards the heavens, stars sparkling at his fingertips. “She was just so high up, never showing her flaws or her real face. It’s kind of impossible to **really** fall in love with someone you don’t even know.” He paused, swallowing. “But I tried anyways.”

Derek slowly reached for Stiles hand that was by his side, hooking their pinkies together when he didn’t pull away. Stiles lowered his skyward hand, resting it on his chest.

“I was infatuated with the persona that she projected and wanted everyone to see and fear and love. But I never really loved **her**. Does that make sense?” Stiles whispered, a final flash of celestial light illuminating his face.

“It does,” Derek assured him softly. He knew all about falling for someone’s facade, but he thanked the gods that Stiles’ false love had ended in nothing more serious than a mild case of heartbreak. Even if it felt like the end of the world, a metaphorical broken organ trounced eleven deaths and the smoldering ashes of your childhood home any day. “When you really want to believe your feelings are real, you’ll do anything to convince yourself it is. Even when all the signs point the other way.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied to the motionless sky. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I also think the meteor shower is over. Okay, your turn. First love, go.”

Derek grunted uncomfortably, fighting back the urge to fidget. But he didn’t pull his hand away.

“Please?” Stiles rolled off his back half onto Derek’s chest. Their legs tangled and Stiles’ crossed arms pillowing his head on Derek’s sternum, so they were lying chest to chest with Stiles on top peering down at him. “Unless this is too weird,” he amended quickly. “Then you don’t have to obviously. But I’d like to know.”

Normally, Derek would’ve declined. As much as he liked Stiles, as comfortable as they had become, it would still hurt to open up after so many years of holding his cards close to his chest like someone would snatch them all away. But Derek had started to wonder if something like this would ever be easy. Maybe broken people like himself never truly trusted someone completely and wholly. Maybe he should just get used to the pain, like ripping off a bandage.

“Paige.” His newfound acceptance didn’t make the ache any less fierce. But Derek knew Stiles deserved this confession at the very least.

Stiles went still. Well, as still as he ever was, which amounted to an occasional twitch and his fingers soothingly tracing idle patterns on Derek’s shirt.

“Her name was Paige, and we thought we were in love.”

“Let me guess,” Stiles grinned down at him, “you wooed her with your loquacious charm and tendency to recite love sonnets.”

“Nailed it.”

“And people say you’re not funny.” Stiles playfully slapped Derek’s shoulder.

“No one says that.”

“Scott says that. And now you’re making your murder eyebrows at me, so I think you should just continue your story. Sorry.”

“She was a nymph.” Derek tilted his head back to rest on the ground. He couldn’t do this while looking into Stiles’ earnest eyes. He didn’t know if he could handle the disappointment and disgust that would soon darken them. The sky stretched out endlessly above him, inky and nonjudgemental. “It was puppy love, of course. But it always feels real.”

Stiles pressed his ear to Derek’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths and listening to the steady thump of his pulse.

“She loved music.” Here, Derek’s lips tilted up a bit as he remembered. “She would practice for hours by the river and that’s where we met. She could play flute and panpipes like most nymphs, but the cello was her favorite. Her parents bought it off some travelling human merchant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as happy as when she was alone with her cello. Everything else just sort of seemed to stop mattering when she drew the bow across the strings.”

Stiles wanted to gag. Of course Derek with his perfect hot-like-the-sun body and perfectly sculpted cheekbones would have a perfect first love. What else did Stiles expect?

Except, then Derek added, “And the only thing that might have matched her passion for music was her hatred of me.” Derek couldn’t help but laugh as Stiles floundered and promptly rolled off of Derek in the process.  

Stiles jackknifed up to stare at the wolf, but instantly lost his train of thought—rendered helpless by the sight of Derek’s full-bodied, crinkle-eyed, unrestrained laugh. He took Stiles’ breath away and looked so gods damned happy. Later, Stiles would recognize it as the first time he had ever really seen Derek throw off the heavy past that he bore like a cross and be free. For now, Stiles simply gaped.

When his brain managed to reboot, Stiles squawked out, “What?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head a little to look at Stiles, smiling slightly. “She couldn’t stand me, and I thought she was stuck up and acted too good for anyone else.”

“But she came to her senses and realized just how irresistible you are?” Laying back down beside Derek, Stiles rearranged them so they were lying on their sides. Derek was a firm line of warmth against his back as Stiles used his arm as a pillow. Anyone that said they didn’t like being the little spoon was a filthy liar. Ahem, Scott.

Derek snorted, pressing a tiny grin against the nape of his neck. “Something like that.”

“So what happened?” Stiles asked quietly as he carefully laced their fingers together.

“She died.”

Stiles winced, squeezing Derek’s hand tightly.

“Someone told her that the only way for her to… to be with me was to become a wolf too. So she found an outside alpha to give her the bite. She was scared that my mom would say no.” Piecing together everything Derek had ever revealed to Stiles about his past and lack of knowledge about bitten wolves, Stiles extrapolated that Derek’s mom must have been the alpha of his family pack. Satomi’s pack functioned as a matriarchy too, so it added up.

Derek took a deep breath, battling down the surge of rage he felt every time he thought about Ennis sinking his fangs into Paige’s shoulder. When he’d heard what Paige was planning to do, Derek had torn the woods apart looking for her. However, he found her too late.

“It didn’t take.” Derek would never forget the last time he saw Paige alive, white as a sheet with black blood oozing from her mouth and gaping bite wound. “She was in so much pain.” He would never forget the raspy, choked sound of her dying voice as she begged for the agony to end.

_“Please, Derek, it hurts so much. Please make it stop.”_

“So I killed her, and my eyes turned blue.” He would never forget the rattling sound of her last breath, the light fading from her eyes and skin growing cold.

Stiles had politely never mentioned Derek’s unusual eye color; Liam, Brett, and all the other betas had golden eyes while Satomi had alpha red. Now that he knew the story behind it, Stiles thanked his lucky stars for being able to keep his nosiness to himself for once. Then he pressed a butterfly kiss against Derek’s palm, partly in thanks for Derek explaining this and partly for comfort. He could feel Derek shaking behind him. “I didn’t know a nightcrawler’s bite could be rejected.”

“It’s rare, I think,” admitted Derek in a soft voice, “but not unheard of.”

Stiles stayed quiet, mulling over everything Derek had shared. And Derek was quiet too, wondering why he’d agreed to talk about his first love when it held so much tragedy. He hadn’t thought about Paige in a long time; there just hadn’t been time when his entire life had gone up in flames mere weeks later. And that made it worse, the knowledge that Derek had never properly grieved the first person he’d tried to give his heart to. The tears started falling before he could stop them, dampening the back of Stiles’ shirt. Derek squeezed his eyes shut and silently apologized to the girl he’d forgotten after losing himself in misery and ash.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles brushed a kiss against Derek’s quaking hand. He murmured it like a mantra as Derek’s shoulders shook, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” As his tears ran dry and Derek grew too exhausted even to mourn, Stiles mumbled, “But for the record, I like your blue eyes.”

Smiling weakly through residual wetness in his eyes, Derek replied in a watery whisper, “Thank you.”

Maybe this was what healing felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone was wondering, for the ages i was thinking that dryads age 10 times slower than humans/shifters. so when stiles says he's 199, in dryad years that's 19.9 years and almost 20. so pretty young. and when stiles calls derek 400 y/o he's basically calling him a 40 y/o man in dryad years.


	4. Grab My Hand and Don’t Ever Drop It, My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girls DTR. Our boys meet their first obstacle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the updated M rating for the brief malira scene in the middle. Hooray for finally reaching the malira subplot! Next week the rating will get bumped up to E woohoo.
> 
> Spoiler warnings at the bottom. 
> 
> Since everything is prewritten, I'm going to update every week. But comments and kudos would make me super happy while uploading chapters just fyi! And of course thank you to everyone who has already commented and left kudos. You guys are the best and always make my day when I get email alerts <3
> 
> P.S. who saw rogue one? i need someone to cry with

“Autumn’s almost here. The first leaves are falling,” Stiles commented offhandedly. Derek lifted his head and glanced pointedly around at the lush, summer-green trees surrounding them. Then he gave Stiles a skeptical look that clearly said that he thought the dryad was full of shit. “Not here, but in the western woods. Wondering how I know when I’ve been here all day with you?” Stiles grinned cheekily.

Derek didn’t respond, but Stiles could practically feel his begrudging curiosity. The two of them had spent a lazy day in Stiles’ main clearing: waking up late and hardly moving except for the absolute necessities. Kira flitted in a couple times, but ultimately left them to their own devices.

“Come here.” Stiles beckoned Derek over, patting a spot in the grass beside him. Making a big show of huffing before getting to his feet and walking to Stiles, Derek curled up beside the dryad. “Yeah, yeah, you big dramatic wolf. Also, you have a bit of squirrel blood on your muzzle. You need another bath.” Derek glared, but Stiles just laughed and offered one hand, palm up.

Derek blinked in surprise as the veins in Stiles’ forearm and wrist began to glow faintly. It looked like golden blood pumping through them, causing his palm to light up in response. Soon small gold flecks began to flake off of Stiles’ palm, his magic concentrated in his hand and the excess releasing into the air only to dissipate a moment later.

“Can you feel it?” Stiles asked quietly. And Derek could, his claws itching at the methodic pulse of Stiles’ magic. It felt like a heartbeat. He nodded. “Can I show you?” Stiles’ hand hovered over Derek’s fur.

Derek closed the gap, pressing his forehead into Stiles’ palm.

At once, the wolf tensed, muscles growing taut as Stiles’ energy flared through him like a frisson of lightning. He wanted to jerk away from the overwhelming sensation, but instead Derek gritted his teeth, scrunched his eyes, and bore it. He trusted Stiles.

Eventually the surge of energy evened out, feeling less like water sloshing messily over the edge of a too-full container and more like a steady pool filled to the very brim. Derek’s blood sang and hummed as he slowly relaxed into the feeling.

“Open your eyes,” came Stiles’ voice, sounding strange and echoey.

Derek, who hadn’t noticed he’d closed them, obeyed. What he saw took his breath away.

All around him, through the lens provided by Stiles, Derek could see the entire forest laced with Stiles’ magic. The vibrant green of the foliage had faded to the background. Tiny strings of bright energy jumped to the forefront, wrapping everything from the smallest blade of grass to the bough of the broadest tree. The pulse that Derek had sensed became suddenly visible as the golden veins of energy throbbed with it, the currents of life pulling and ebbing.

Turning round to drink it all in, Derek’s eyes widened at the sight of Stiles’ willow. Every single thread of magic woven throughout the forest led to it, delicate strands twisting and twining together to create thick ropes of sheer energy. The willow’s trunk shimmered with thriving life.

Everything was connected, both starting and ending at Stiles’ tree—a full, self-sustaining circle.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Derek tore his gaze away to glance at Stiles, whose eyes flared the same gold as the rest of the forest. However, brilliant scarlet fibers crisscrossed the dryad’s body like a network of veins that pumped magic instead of blood. Derek wondered if it was because Stiles wasn’t just a part of the delicate ecosystem at work, but the very heart of it.

As Stiles drew his hand away, Derek watched the intricate network of magic fade until all traces of gold vanished. It looked dull now that the wolf had seen what it _could_ look like. It was like being given brief technicolor vision only to be downgraded back to the black and white from before.

“See,” Stiles explained, “my forest is like a sentient being, everything interacting and connecting. And I’m like the brain. I can feel everything, so I know when my land is beginning to go dormant.”

Derek rolled his eyes as best he could as a wolf. Trust Stiles to use his staggering powers just to prove a point. Scooting closer, he nudged hard at the dryad’s shoulder, shoving him to the ground. As he fell back with a startled yelp, Derek clambered on top of his chest and onto his lap, thrusting his muzzle right in Stiles’ face with a shit-eating gleam in his eyes.

“Oof! Get off, sourwolf. You weigh a ton. And your breath reeks.” But the affectionate hand rubbing at the soft fur of Derek’s ears belied Stiles’ indignant words.

A soft, content growl rumbled from the wolf’s throat. Stiles grinned radiantly.

* * *

From her spot on the edge of the glade, Kira smiled at the sight of Derek and Stiles sprawled together. She couldn’t remember the last time Stiles had looked so happy. Satisfied that he was in good hands, she slipped away.

Easily weaving between a close-growing patch of saplings, she bounded through the forest and followed a faint, musky scent. It grew stronger as she closed in on her target, and she picked up her pace excitedly. But she resisted the urge to full out run, trying to keep her clumsy human feet as quiet as possible. Stealth would never be her forte, but she tried her best.

A rustle of the bracken to her right offered a brief warning before a brown and furry lightning bolt came hurtling out to bowl Kira over. She fell hard with a yelp of surprise, back stinging where it hit the ground in a flurry of fallen foliage. On her chest sat a massive coyote, tongue lolling and eyes gleaming mischievously.

Laughing, Kira affectionately ruffled Malia’s coarse fur. “You got me, but I was closer this time, right? I swear I’m getting better.”

The coyote shifted into a very human and very naked girl, who unabashedly laid flush along Kira’s body. “You’re too loud still. I could hear you a mile away.”

Kira could feel her face turning a bright, unattractive red, and she thanked the gods that Scott had started insisting that she and Stiles wear human clothes. At first she’d thought it annoying; in fact she still wasn’t a big fan of the constricting material. But she wouldn’t be able to handle both herself and Malia naked in such a compromising position. Luckily, it only took a few breathless seconds for Kira’s brain to reboot and her eyes to guiltily snap up to Malia’s face.

Malia rubbed her cheek on Kira’s collarbone, growling softly in satisfaction. She tucked her arms around Kira’s waist and curl up as best she could to use Kira’s body as a pillow. Taller by a good four inches, Malia wasn’t quite successful, but Kira appreciated the effort.

“Let me up,” Kira pushed gently at her. “Your hair is always a mess after you shift.”

Malia reluctantly sat up, pouting a little, but stayed firmly in Kira’s lap. Not that Kira had any qualms about it. “Turn,” she said, patting Malia’s bare side.

Grumbling, Malia twisted her back to Kira before leaning back to settle comfortably in the V of Kira’s legs. She scooted down a bit so her head rested on Kira’s chest and she had only to glance up to see her face. Malia scratched her stomach idly while Kira swept her mess of brown tangles forward to spill over her shoulders. Then Kira got to work, diligently teasing out the worst snarls with her fingers.

Neither girl talked—Malia not particularly chatty and Kira too focused—but it was nice just to softly coexist.

“Allison has a comb that might work better,” Kira admitted after a few minutes of glacially slow progress. “Remind me to ask her for it next time I see her.”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you just shifted with me. Fur is easier than hair.” Malia made a face as Kira accidentally tugged too hard on stubborn knot. She snapped irritably at Kira’s hand.

Not for the first time Kira felt in an uncomfortable twinge in her chest at the offhand comment. Until meeting Malia, she had never quite cared about her lacking ability to shift on command. Why should she when all of her friends were either humans from the local village or nature spirits shaped like humans? But now she found a friend in someone who preferred four legs to two. Maybe more than a friend, if Kira was reading the signs right.

Now, it seemed like a persistent barrier between the two of them. Kira tried to make up for it by coaxing Malia to stay human more often, but she obviously disliked it. Nothing could fix the fact that Kira couldn’t shift on her own.

Malia frowned at the abrupt unhappiness souring Kira’s scent. Sniffing a little, she sat up and twisted to glance over her shoulder.  “You’re…” Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as she searched for the correct words. “Sad.”

“Not quite.” Kira tried to muster a smile at the hot-or-cold game she’d started to play in order to help Malia parse out what she sensed and put it into human words. Kira hoped to someday take her into Beacon Hills, but decided to touch up Malia’s social skills first. She didn’t think the humans down there would appreciate Kira bringing a coyote-girl who refused to wear clothes and had absolutely no brain-to-mouth filter.

Malia tried again. “Upset?”

“Warmer.”

“Why?”

Kira pursed her lips, glancing down at her now empty hands. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” replied Malia firmly. She leaned forward to rub her cheek on Kira’s temple reassuringly. She’d noticed that Kira seemed to like when she did that.

“I want to shift with you. I know you’ve been teaching me, but I don’t feel like I’m getting any better.” It also didn’t help that Malia hardly had the vocabulary to hold a long conversation let alone explain something as complex as a shifter’s transformation. For her, it was natural and instinctive. It didn’t need words, couldn’t fit into the limited spectrum that human diction provided.

“But why?” Malia cocked her head. “Shifting is good, but I think… I think we’re okay now.” She reached for Kira’s hand, twining their fingers together. She glanced nervously into Kira’s eyes. “Are we okay like this?”

“Yes,” Kira said fiercely, tightening her grip.

“And when I am a coyote, are we still okay?”

“Of course.”

“Then why do you feel like you need change? This,” Malia raised their joined fingers to eye level, “this is good.”

“But what **is** this?” Kira asked desperately, the question pouring from her mouth before she lost her nerve. “I’m good with anything,” she added quickly at Malia’s spooked look, “but I need—” Here, Kira paused because that wasn’t right. She didn’t necessarily need it but, “I want to know what we are.”

 _I want to know if the fact that we kissed two weeks ago means anything to you._ She hadn’t even told Stiles about it because of an irrational fear that if she ever mentioned it, it would somehow vaporize like a dream. Clearly, Malia had the same idea because neither ever brought it up again. Although, that might have had more to do with the fact that Malia had turned literal tail and fled moments after the kiss. That hadn’t exactly been the most encouraging sign.

“I don’t know.” Malia admitted, brown eyes wide

“Do you regret kissing me?” Kira held her breath, almost afraid of the answer.

“No.”

Kira leaned up a bit, eyelids fluttering, until their lips hovered a hair’s breadth apart. “Then can I do it again?”

Malia sealed their lips together in a soft, if sloppy kiss. Her arms wrapped around Kira’s shoulder. She pushed forward to brace herself on her knees, bracketing Kira’s sides with her thighs. Kira’s hands found her waist as their lips moved together in sync.

Mouth wandering, Malia drifted down to press butterfly kisses along Kira’s neck, nipping softly until Kira gasped. Licking playfully at her collarbone, Malia’s chest rumbled contentedly. Kira leaned back a bit and propped herself up with a shaky arm planted on the ground. She tilted her head back, eyelids fluttering.

Leaning back to admire her handiwork, Malia grinned wolfishly at Kira’s flushed face and blown pupils. She toyed with the dangerously low collar of Kira’s loose shirt, askew from where Malia had pulled it down to nibble at the exposed skin.

“If you do anything else, I’m definitely not going to be taking this as slow as I’d imagined,” Kira admitted with an audible swallow, her wrecked voice sending a shiver of pleasure up Malia’s spine.

“Is that a problem?” Malia’s hot breath tickled her ear, tone low and sultry. Never before in her whole life had she felt like this, the low simmer that had started in her belly consuming her from the inside out. The heat that sparked in her gut and dripped down between her legs was completely foreign, but not unpleasant, and had her pressing as close as she possibly could to Kira, who smelled intoxicating.

“Definitely not.” The breathy quality of Kira’s reply, the way her flushed chest rose and fell, was so beautiful and heady. Malia dragged her nose to Kira’s pulse. “But I want to make sure this is what you want. I know you might not have ever done anything like this before—”

“And you have?” retorted Malia, rearing back to scrutinize Kira’s now embarrassed expression.

“Scott and I—we may have, uh…” Kira trailed off with a squeak, face red.

Malia raised one eyebrow, fighting down the ugly lick of jealousy stirring in her gut.

“Don’t judge me!” Kira exclaimed. “It was a long time ago, okay? I was, uh, curious, and Scott said he and Allison were taking a break, so it sort of just happened.”

Huffing, Malia leaned down to nose at Kira’s neck again. The fire in her belly had flickered down into a pulsing warmth, tamed by the bitterness tainting the back of her throat at the thought of Kira with anyone else. But she was content to slow down a bit, to drag it out a little longer. “I wasn’t judging.”

“You so were.” Soft fingers threaded through Malia’s hair.

“Was not.” Careful teeth worried at Kira’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say.” An affectionate kiss found its way onto Malia’s forehead.

A comfortable silence fell over them as they sat curled together until, “This doesn’t mean you’re allowed to start bringing me back dead animals again. I don’t care what Liam says, I don’t want to start my day staring into the face of a dead squirrel ever again. That was traumatizing. ”

“Damn.”

* * *

Derek told Stiles about his family the week before the autumn equinox. Every aimless, half-made plan he’d been idly stringing together in his head, without any real intention of executing, was thrown out the window when Stiles found him kneeling in front of a small pile of leaves. Derek’s expression looked lost, almost blank as he stared unseeingly at the haphazard heap of gold and red. A stray leaf slid off the top, slithering helplessly to the ground.

“Derek?” Stiles cautiously crept toward him, hands held up placatingly like he was approaching a skittish animal. As much progress as they’d made in the past 5 months, he knew better than to expect their relationship to magically be smooth sailing from here on out.

“She loved the fall.” Derek bowed his head. He jerkily sifted through the variegated leaves. They cracked and crumbled in his clenched hands and slipped through his fingers like grains of auburn sand. “She and Cora, they liked the colors and the smell of everything going to sleep.” His face contorted with anguish. “I wish they could've seen this place”

Stiles immediately thought of Paige. It hadn’t been that long since the meteor shower. He opened his mouth in vain; he had no idea what the protocol was for your boyfriend mourning his dead first love. He didn’t even know who Cora was, but she sounded important. Stiles felt he had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He flexed his hands, annoyed at his drowning sense of uselessness.

“And I killed her.” Derek’s face twisted, self-disgust darkening his eyes. He gritted his teeth.

“Derek,” Stiles said hesitantly, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezing, “you didn’t kill Paige. You put her out of her misery. It would’ve been worse if you—”

“Not Paige,” Derek interrupted, roughly shrugging off Stiles’ hand.

Stiles’ mouth snapped shut. He feared the wrong thing he could shatter this delicate trance of nostalgic sadness, rip away the false calm to reveal a spark rapidly licking up a bomb fuse. Something darker bubbled just below the fragile surface. Stiles didn’t want to see it.

“Laura and Cora, they were my sisters. I had seven siblings and I killed them all.” Derek tilted his head back to stare at the sky like it could tell him why his chest ached so much, as if the clouds would explain why the pain felt so fresh despite the wound being years old.

Stiles was at a loss. He had no idea what was going on or why Derek was so adamant that he had caused his family’s demise. “I… I don’t understand.”

Those were the wrong words.

“No you don’t!” Snarling, Derek let the fury he felt boiling under his skin explode. It was rage at everything: his shitty life, the apathetic world, himself—especially himself. He turned on Stiles with blazing eyes and shoved his hands at Stiles’ chest. “So stop fucking trying! You’ll never understand what it’s like to kill your whole gods damned family. There’s so much blood on my hands, Stiles. I’ve fucked up everything in my life.”

Stiles stumbled backward from the force of Derek’s push and fell with a pained yelp. Clutching his hand to his stinging chest, Stiles felt the blood soak into his shirt from where Derek’s claws had torn skin. He glanced down and saw red staining his palm and oozing from the gashes below his collarbone. Stiles unsteadily stood up, took a step back and, for the first time, felt a small jolt of fear as he gaped at the wolf. “Derek, I—”

“You asked about my first love, but you should’ve asked about my second one. You should’ve asked about why I’m all alone. It’s because eleven people are dead and I’m the reason why. Do you know what that feels like?” Lip curling, Derek’s face twisted into an awful sneer. He bared his fangs and barrelled on, not waiting for an answer. “No, you don’t, so stop pretending to be empathic about something you have no fucking idea about.”

Suddenly furious, Stiles took a bold step forward. Hot, prickling anger burned away the icy terror Derek’s harsh words had dredged up. He spat, “Alright, asshole, so I don’t what it’s like to have no one. But I know what it’s like to look at reflection and hate what you see, to feel like you don’t deserve anything. The self-loathing schtick that you detest that I do? Yeah, well you do it too. So I know for a damned fact that your version of this story is probably the wrong one because you’re just so obsessed with blaming yourself for everything tiny thing that goes wrong. There could be a freaking rainstorm and you’d probably moan and groan about how it’s because the whole world hates you. This tragic hero trope is getting old.”

“Stop acting like you know who I am,” growled Derek venomously, “because you don’t.” He knew he would regret every unfair word that came out of his mouth, knew that Stiles was the last person to deserve the brunt of Derek’s wrath. But at the moment, he couldn’t muster up the will to give a fairy’s glittery ass.

The gaping hole in his chest ate him alive, gnawed on his bones. The only emotion Derek had ever known to rival his sadness was anger. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Because you don’t tell me shit!” Stiles shouted back, throwing his hands up in frustration. He stalked forward to jab an accusatory finger into Derek’s chest. “You’re this broody ass that’s practically allergic to words or feelings, so of course I don’t know anything about you. That’s not my fault, it’s yours.”

“And you’re this hyperactive, spastic little shit who thinks he can fix me.” Derek snapped back.

Stiles’ fist moved before he could even flinch properly at Derek’s savage words. The sharp crack echoed, bouncing off the trees, and Derek staggered back a little. A faint bruise was already swelling on his jaw, but disappeared just as fast. Derek’s face remained unreadable.

“No I’m not,” Stiles bit out in a low voice, chest rapidly falling and rising. His loud breathing filled the sudden quiet. “Because you’re not broken.” As livid as he felt at Derek right now, he wouldn’t stoop to his level. Stiles could think of a thousand things to shout with just as much malice, but he bit his tongue until the blood came. He wouldn’t confirm Derek’s greatest fear, to be seen as worthless, because Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek would ever recover from something like that. “You’re not this horrible, shattered person you seem to think you are. You’ve made mistakes, some maybe bigger than others, but you’ve learned,” Stiles continued firmly. “You’re still learning.”

And with that, all the fight seemed to drain out of Derek. No matter what he did, the sadness always seemed to win. And every time it did, each time the red haze left his vision, Derek found himself alone and surrounded by the splintered pieces of all the good things he knew he hadn’t deserved in the first place. This time, it was Stiles at a wary distance, eyeing him like Derek might try and rip out his throat with his teeth. His hand hung limply at his side, small drops of blood still lazily dripping from his split knuckle onto the ground. The scarlet slash marks across his chest looked stark against his pale shirt.

“I am,” rasped Derek, breath hitching as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I’m exactly who I think I am. I murdered my whole pack. What’s more fucked up than that, Stiles? My aunt was pregnant and my cousin had two kids. They’re all gone. I’m never getting that back.”

Stiles gazed at the unrecognizable man before him. Stiles couldn’t understand how he could possibly be the person Stiles had fallen asleep with the night before. Except, under the harsh words and anger, he was still _Derek_ . Even though Stiles would never have dreamed of punching **his** Derek in the face, he was starting to realize that the person standing here and the one Stiles had spent the last several months beginning to love weren’t separate at all. The Derek that had just shouted out all of Stiles’ insecurities was the same Derek that had kissed him senseless a couple hours ago.

It made everything more conflicting. Stiles’ chest dully throbbed as Derek’s barbed insults endlessly echoed  in his mind.

People always labeled nightcrawlers as inherently dangerous and volatile, and here was the proof. But it wasn’t anything like Stiles had expected based on the ancient tales. It wasn’t raw, uncontrollable, physical rage. Derek hadn’t gone for his throat. Or, at least not in the conventional sense. Yet, his cutting remarks made Stiles feel like he was dying regardless. And it felt worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

Stiles knew Derek’s behavior stemmed from pain—years of bottled-up anguish without an outlet—not actual anger. In a completely screwed up way, Derek was finally seeking closure for his family’s death by confronting his own self-disgust.

He knew that whatever hurt he nursed from Derek’s scathing words couldn’t compare to what horrors Derek had probably going through. Derek suffered from years of convincing himself that everyone blamed him. That couldn’t be healthy.

And damn it, even now, Stiles wanted to do his best to help.

Stiles swallowed, pushed down his own sore feelings for the moment, and asked, “Who was your second love?”

“A huntress.”

“She killed them,” Stiles guessed. Leave it to Derek to blame himself when someone else pulled the trigger. It started to make sense, but the whole picture still missed a few key pieces. “She didn’t just kill them,” Stiles murmured to himself, toying with the knowledge he already had. He thought about Derek’s scars. “She burned them.” That explained Derek’s nightmares where he jerked awake only to press his nose to Stiles’ neck as if trying to ground himself. Or trying to drown out the imaginary smell of scorched flesh.

Everything slowly fell into place.

Derek nodded. “And hunted me down. I was the only one she couldn’t kill even though I should’ve been the first to die. _I_ let her in, _I_ showed her where my family lived, _I_ was the one that didn’t realize who she was. But everyone else died. Where’ s the justice in that?” Derek’s voice cracked, eyes glistening.

Stiles didn’t have an answer. “There isn’t any,” he said finally. “How can there be justice in a world that takes both your family and mine?” A sad smile tugged at Stiles’ lips. “But at the same time, how can I hate a world that brought you to me?”

Derek cringed, suddenly hot with shame as realized that Stiles’ family was dead as well. Their fight now looked like nothing but a petty temper tantrum on Derek’s part, and he didn’t know what to do. He’d said so many spiteful, malicious things, but Stiles still stubbornly stood there, so maybe…

“You still want me then?” Derek held his breath, doing his best to keep the hope out of his voice. He knew he didn’t deserve it, knew Stiles had every right to walk away right now and never come back. In fact, it was in his best interest to. But that didn’t stop the traitorous part of Derek’s mind from whispering, _But what if he stays?_

No one had ever stayed before.

“I’m so fucking pissed at you,” Stiles replied seriously, face hard. Then he took a deep breath. “But yes. I still want you. I don’t want what we have to be ended by one fight.”

A relieved breath that Derek didn’t even know he’d been holding whooshed out of him.

“So when you’re ready to talk, come find me.” Amber eyes blinking appraisingly before Stiles turned his back. The forest seemed to swallow him up.

Without the dryad at his side, the woods seemed so much quieter than Derek remembered. The silence somehow sounded disappointed. He sighed. His anger dissipated and Stiles gone, the wolf shook out his midnight fur and padded softly away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case, there's a brief scene in the middle where Derek attacks Stiles in a fit of rage during an argument and draws blood. If that's not your jam, then be warned.


	5. The Fox and the Coyote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girls do the horizontal tango.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning this is 100% Kira/Malia sex. Note the new tags and updated E rating. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! (also let's just pretend I'm not posting this a day late lmao)

“Stiles is upset,” Kira said worriedly, wringing her hands together. “I think he and Derek argued. Should I do something?” 

“What for?” Malia cocked her head, genuinely confused. She pushed her way into Kira’s lap, sprawling out to lazily nuzzle Kira’s neck. 

“I don’t want him to be sad,” Kira explained, trying to keep it simple. She reminded herself to work on Malia’s empathy, or lack thereof,  towards other people later. “I want to help.” 

“If Derek was the one that did something stupid, how could you help?” Malia pointed out, frowning. She lightly brushed Kira’s cheeks with her hands, ingraining her scent more deeply into Kira’s skin. She made a pleased sound as she leaned in to sniff her handiwork. 

“By offering Stiles support,” replied Kira patiently. She carded her fingers through Malia’s hair, which now looked slightly less like a pixie nest after attacking it for an hour with Allison’s handy comb, which now had three less teeth. “He’s taking it hard. It might be easier if someone was there for him.” 

“In the wild, the weak are killed,” Malia said seriously. She paused in her scentmarking, deep in thought, and sagely added, “Or eaten.” 

“Humans try not to let that happen.” Kira couldn’t help giggling. “We  help each other.” She reached for Malia’s hand, feeling inordinately pleased when Malia laced their fingers together. 

“That’s dumb,” replied Malia, ever the pragmatic.

“How so?” 

“Too much work,” the coyote responded. Pressing herself close, she wrapped her arms around Kira’s shoulders and rubbed her nose along Kira’s neck with a low rumble of contentment. “It’s better to be alone. It makes running easier when things get bad.” 

At the sharp, sour drop in Kira’s scent, Malia quickly added, “Or in smaller numbers. Ones or twos. I would never leave you behind.” She gazed solemnly into Kira’s eyes. “You know that right? I would never leave without you.” 

“But you would leave Stiles and Derek?” laughed Kira, trying for levity in the face of Malia’s intense expression. She couldn’t held the way she exhaled with relief at Malia’s reassurance.

“In a heartbeat.” Brushing soft kisses against Kira’s collarbone, Malia impatiently slipped her hands under the hem of Kira’s shirt. She reiterated firmly, “I would never leave you.” 

Tilting her head back, Kira sighed happily at the nimble fingers dancing over her sides and stomach. Resting her own hands on Malia’s bare hips—they still hadn’t made very much progress on the clothes-wearing front—Kira rubbed small, soothing circles with her thumbs. Malia rucked her shirt higher and higher. 

“Off,” she grumbled, tugging at the article of clothing in annoyance. She straddled Kira’s lap now, knees planted outside her thighs. She curved her back to bend down and nibble at Kira’s neck. “Or I’ll do it myself.” Her fangs lightly scraped along Kira’s skin, nails pressing soft indents into Kira’s ribs.

“Yeah,” Kira muttered, skin flushed, “I’d prefer you didn’t. I don’t have very many of these.” Pulling it over her head and throwing it off to the side, she pulled Malia back up into a kiss. Heat pooled in her stomach as their lips smeared together. Kira made a soft noise of approval when she felt Malia’s naked skin brush against hers. She slid her hands down Malia’s sides, fingers trailing down the smooth skin as she arched up in search of friction that would send sparks down her spine.

Panting softly, Malia pushed Kira lightly to get her to lean back. Kira let out a surprised squeak, but complied. Her hair haloed out under her. Dark strands stuck to her light sheen of sweat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. A stripe of sunlight slanted through the trees to trace the curves of her breasts. She wriggled on her back, giggling when she extracted the stick jabbing her in the back and tossed it aside. 

From her seat on Kira’s hips, Malia’s eyes darkened with desire. “You are so…” But Malia trailed off. She could barely manage English on a good day, let alone when she had a gorgeous girl squirming beneath her. Malia bent down to blanket Kira’s body with her own as she sucked lightly on Kira’s bottom lip. 

Kira sighed happily into the kiss, eyes fluttering. She loosely curled one hand in Malia’s hair and let the other rest on the back of Malia’s thigh, clutching her close. 

Malia lapped at sweat-salty skin and relished the low moan it elicited. She eagerly sucked a dark bruise over Kira’s pounding pulse. Her nose brushed the bottom of Kira’s jaw. Soothing the abused skin with her tongue, Malia moved further down to bite at Kira’s sharp collarbone. 

Kira murmured, “Malia,” and squeezed her eyes shut. 

Malia grinned. She nipped at Kira’s ribs before cupping one breast. She experimentally dragged her thumb over a hard nipple and smirked against Kira’s twitching stomach when Kira sucked in a stuttering breath and arched into the touch. Malia rewarded her with a butterfly kiss, sucking lightly. 

The fingers twined into Malia’s hair gripped tighter in response. Kira’s breath hitched. “Malia, please,” she moaned, hips jerking up instinctively. 

Malia growled softly and couldn’t help clenching down on nothing. Arousal pulsed persistently between her legs. 

Impatient, Malia pressed an insistent kiss to the smooth skin peeking above Kira’s waistband. Then she moved on to tackle the button holding the pants together as she palmed Kira through them. Whining after a moment, she pawed ineffectually at the manmade clothing. “Kira,” she whined. She itched to just use her claws, but she knew Kira would be cross and might not want to continue.

Stifling a giggle, Kira sat up. Lovebites littered her flushed chest. Her lips looked red and swollen from where she’d been biting them. A stray twig snarled in her dark hair. Her half-lidded eyes were blown with lust. She smiled up at Malia through long eyelashes. She smelled spicy with desire. 

Malia had never seen anyone more beautiful. 

With her free hand, Kira popped the buttons open. “If you’re good,” she said breathlessly, heartbeat racing, “I’ll show you how to do that.” 

“I’ll be so good to you,” purred Malia, hands quickly wandering south. She leaned forward to capture Kira’s lips in a greedy kiss. One hand wrapped around the back of Kira’s neck to pull her closer. Her other one slipped down Kira’s pants and into her panties to rub a finger through the slick she found there. 

“Fuck,” Kira panted into Malia’s mouth, spreading her thighs instinctively and canting her hips down onto Malia’s fingers. She scrambled to shove her pants and underwear down her legs, kicking them away. 

Malia leaned down to kiss her, lifting her ass off of Kira’s thighs in the process to shift her weight to her knees. Kira took the moment to slide a hand between Malia’s legs. Malia made a low noise of surprise, but not dissent, against Kira’s mouth. Kira stroked her, fingers gently exploring and probing. She rubbed Malia’s clit with her thumb in soft circles that had Malia panting against Kira’s neck, thrusting her hips to grind harder. 

“More,” Malia grunted, clenching down as she chased the pleasure. Sweat trickled down her back. Her thighs started to tremble. But she couldn’t help but moan as Kira crooked her fingers just right. 

“Okay.” Kira laid back down, pulling Malia up her body until she hovered over Kira’s face, knees planted on the ground on either side. Kira rested her hands on the swell of Malia’s ass. Her fingers traced the fine scars left on the skin that spoke of a life of wilderness. “Malia?” Kira asked, watching Malia’s face. 

Malia cautiously nodded and let Kira guide her down. She felt tense, but relaxed at the first touch of Kira’s tongue. “Holy gods,” Malia gasped out. She tipped her head back, rolled her hips to get Kira’s tongue deeper, and enjoyed the way Kira’s palms rested on her sides. 

Kira hummed appreciatively, thumbs rubbing Malia’s hipbones. She revelled in the small, punched out noises Malia made, the dampness smearing messily onto Kira’s lips, and the heavy scent of sex hanging around them. When her jaw started to ache, Kira added a tentative finger. Encouraged by Malia’s stuttering hips and rhythmic clenching, a second finger joined the first. 

The stretch had Malia growling Kira’s name and grinding down hard. Malia braced her hands on the ground above Kira’s head, claws digging into the dirt. Her arms shook. She glanced down to see Kira’s determined face between her legs, a streak of slick glistening on the end of Kira’s nose. Kira met her gaze, eyes dark and long lashes fluttering. 

“Good?” Kira asked, voice raspy in a way that mesmerized Malia. 

“So good,” Malia affirmed breathily. She rode Kira’s hand desperately, chasing the pleasure. “More,” she demanded. “ _Harder_ .” 

Kira obligingly redoubled her efforts. Her free hand dragged down the curve of Malia’s spine to her ass. Kira curled the fingers of her other hand, fingers probing the slick folds in search of—

Malia shouted and shuddered as pleasure wracked her body in waves. Her arms almost buckled. Sweat dribbled down her neck. Her stomach swooped as she rocked her hips against Kira’s smirking lips. 

Bingo. 

“Fuck,” Malia muttered, out of breath and eyes unfocused. “Do that again.” 

Now that she knew where it was, it was easy for Kira to repeatedly milk that sweet spot until Malia was a quivering, writhing mess. “Are you close?” Kira murmured, scissoring her fingers. She sucked a hickey onto the inside of Malia’s thigh. She lapped greedily at the slick leaking from between Malia’s legs, drinking in the urgent and increasingly desperate noises Malia let out. 

“So close,” Malia nodded as she pressed harder against Kira’s hand. Sparks danced up her spine. She dropped her head forward, hair falling around her face to trail in the detritus. Her claws flexed and raked the ground. Kira shivered at the thought of those claws dragging lightly down her back to leave red welts that stung in the best way. 

Kira dipped her thumb to caress and dance around Malia’s clit in gentle circles, which had Malia muttering a slew of obscenities Kira didn’t even know she knew. Malia clenched desperately around her now, hot and tight, and whined as she climbed steadily toward the edge. She chanted Kira’s name like a prayer as the fingers inside her pumped slick and fast. 

And then Kira finally brushed her thumb firmly over Malia’s clit just the right way—not hard enough to ruin the mood and throw Malia off, not too soft to not feel anything at all. It was all over after that. Malia let out a guttural growl. Her back arched as she shook her way through her orgasm. 

Kira felt the warm come trickle onto her hand and down her wrist. She stroked Malia through it, gradually slowing down. She gentled her movements and pressed lazy kisses to the crease of Malia’s hips. Once Malia had gone boneless, Kira wiggled out from under Malia to sit up and pull her close. Kira licked eagerly into Malia’s mouth, nipping at her bottom lip playfully and swallowing down her moans. 

“Fuck,” Malia croaked finally. She leaned back to sit heavily in Kira’s lap, legs too unsteady to hold her. She gazed at Kira, eyes dark and face flushed. Her mouth was slack-jawed and panting. Her hair looked wild and windswept. In all her years in Stiles’ forest, Kira had seen misty morning sunrises, resplendently feathered birds, and radiant flowers kissed by moonlight. But none of those could compare to how Malia looked now. 

Captivated, Kira brought her fingers up to her mouth to lap at the come covering them, never breaking eye contact as she sucked on her sticky digits. It tasted faintly bitter and heavy and not entirely pleasant, but Kira grinned wickedly at the hungry look Malia gave her. 

Chest rising and falling rapidly, Malia nibbled lightly on Kira’s earlobe and growled lowly, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

“Yeah, well before you die, I’d like to get off,” Kira quipped cheekily.

“I think I can do something about that.” Kira shivered at the predatory gleam in Malia’s eyes. 

Intoxicated by the heady scent, Malia pressed heavy kisses to Kira’s pulse. Kira hummed appreciatively, tipping her head back and shutting her eyes. Malia carefully but insistently pressed Kira back onto the ground to hover over her. Malia’s hands ghosted across Kira’s shoulders and jutting collarbone down to the small swells of her breasts and her soft stomach. Kira sighed softly into Malia’s touch. Her breath hitched when Malia swirled her tongue around one nipple. Malia preened. 

Soon Malia had Kira keening as she slotted into place, comfortably tucked between Kira’s thighs. Malia mouthed a little at Kira’s hip, deft hands massaging the hot skin of Kira’s inner thighs. Malia moved to suck at the warm dampness between Kira’s legs. She tried her best not to screw up her face at the taste while she lapped hot, broad strokes. 

“Oh,” Kira gasped out, hips jerking of their own accord against Malia’s lips. The dirt beneath her clung to her sweat-damp skin. 

Adding one finger beside her tongue, Malia groaned at the way Kira clenched around her, hot and tight. 

Malia mouthed teasingly at the delicate surrounding skin. Adding a second finger to the slick mess, she pumped harder and was rewarded when Kira hissed her name, throwing her head back. “Fuck, Malia, so good.”  

Lips slick and swollen and jaw aching, Malia leaned up to messily lave at Kira’s breast as she slipped in one more finger. It happened on accident. Sucking a dark bruise onto the dainty skin, Malia twisted her fingers without thinking and Kira cried out. 

Her back arched. Her whole body shook, clamping down on Malia’s fingers as the unbearable ache came to a head and crashed down. Kira squeezed her eyes shut. Her erratic breathing slowed.  “Keep going,” she muttered dazedly, rolling her hips to get an easy rhythm going again. Reaching up to palm her own breast lazily, she continued to meet Malia’s fingers for a bit longer until she sighed in satisfaction. “Okay, stop.” 

Slowly withdrawing her sticky fingers, Malia held Kira’s heavy gaze as she slowly licked the come from her skin. Kira groaned, “You’re so gorgeous. Come here.” As Malia pressed their lips together in a slow, searing kiss, Kira muttered, “You did so good. You’re so perfect, you know that?” 

Malia just sighed contentedly into her mouth. 


	6. They Take Their Shots (But We're Bulletproof)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys make amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve! I hope everyone had a great holiday season and has a better 2017 than this shit year. This chapter's a bit on the short side again, but the next one is like 7k I promise. Thanks again to everyone who read/commented/left kudos, you guys are the best. Every email alert I get honestly makes my day <3

That night, Stiles and Derek slept separately for the first time in  months . Neither managed to shut their eyes for more than a few hours.

Prickling guilt kept Derek awake. He replayed their fight over and over and winced every time he remembered the nasty things he’d screamed at Stiles in his anger. 

Stiles kept the stars company. He wondered if maybe he’d been foolish to want something more with the nightcrawler. He’d been alone for nearly two centuries; he could be alone for a little longer. 

* * *

“You seem troubled, nightcrawler.”

“Nothing that isn’t by my own design,” Derek grunted shortly. He didn’t feel much like talking. 

The selkie grinned at that, revealing rows of razor-edged shark’s teeth. She crossed her arms on the bank of the pond and rested her head on it, bottom half still submerged underwater. Her greyish, scaly skin glistened. Brushing back a strand of seaweed green hair, she asked, “A prayer for your thoughts?” 

“Why bother the gods with an insignificant mortal problem?” 

“Fine,” she shrugged. “But I’ll just let you know that if you do anything to hurt Stiles, it would be in your best interest to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.” Her lip curled to bare her jagged fangs once more.

Flashing his eyes, Derek peeled back his own lip to meet her tit for tat. “Then why aren’t you tearing me to shreds this minute?” 

“Because I’m hoping that you’re just taking some time to sort out your thoughts before returning to mend things with him.” She tipped her head calculatingly, sea blue eyes blinking. Her slitted, catlike pupils sparkled with intelligence. “You’re good for him. I have faith you’ll work things out.” 

“I’m not good for anyone,” snorted Derek disbelievingly. 

“No matter what you think, you are so much more than your past, nightcrawler,” she replied solemnly.

“You know.” It wasn’t a question. Derek felt dizzy with the sudden realization that the she knew his deepest, darkest secret. “You know I killed my family.” He tensed his muscles, prepared to spring up and run away like he’d been doing for years when things took a turn for the worse. It was practically a reflex at this point. 

“The mermaids are terrible gossips,” the selkie confirmed. “They’re horrible to hang around, make me want to claw my face off, but sometimes I pick up a few important tidbits.” 

“You know what I did, but you think I’m good for Stiles.” Derek said in confusion. It puzzled him, this idea that someone thought he didn’t destroy everything he touched despite his past. 

“Of course,” the selkie replied smoothly. “I see the way you look at him, how deeply you care. One mistake does not negate all the good you have done and will do.” 

Derek shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’ve done nothing good for him. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve  **him** .” Derek closed his eyes in self-disgust and shame. He could almost smell the sharp tang of Stiles’ spilled blood. “I hurt him.” 

But she waved the self-deprecating words away with a webbed hand. “A little blood, a few shallow scratches was all it was. Easily forgiven. However,” her eyes glinted dangerously, “if it happens again, I will personally find you in your sleep, eviscerate you, strangle you with your own intestines, and watch as you choke on your blood. Are we clear?” 

“Crystal.” Derek swallowed, fighting the urge to take a precautionary step away from the pool’s edge. 

“Good. Anyways, as I was saying,” she continued unperturbed, “I believe in a regression to the mean.” 

Derek tilted his head questioningly.

“I believe,” she clarified, “that no matter how far the scales tip, for better or for worse, the universe will always find a way to balance everything out. You might be going through a rough patch right now, but the gods won’t let it stay that way forever. In my experience, I’ve found that nature favors equilibrium.” 

“Sounds a lot like fate,” sniffed Derek disdainfully, “something that can’t be controlled. People should be allowed choices. I don’t like being helpless while things run their course.”

“No one does, nightcrawler,” she agreed. “But just because things will even out eventually doesn’t mean you can’t choose your own path. Take some initiative.” 

“You want me to talk to him,” Derek sighed. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t berated himself for a hundred times over. However, vulnerability was easier said than done. Baring his soul, revealing his past, they weren’t exactly the most appealing things when Derek was terrified that Stiles would take one look at his broken, well,  _everything_ and walk away. 

After all, how could he expect Stiles to want to be around him when Derek didn’t even want to be around himself?

“Just try,” she encouraged. “You’d be surprised how far Stiles will go for the people he cares for. His loyalty is not easily won, but it is deeper than any ocean.” As if she could tell Derek was teetering, leaning towards her suggestions, the selkie pushed, “So go find him and remind him why he chose to trust you in the first place. If you want this to work, you have to stop living in fear. Have a little confidence that your bond can’t be broken over this inconsequential lovers’ spat.” 

Derek remained silent for a moment. He idly picked at the grass carpeting the bank for a distraction. He pretended to mull over her words, even though he’d already made up his mind. Damn selkies and their surprisingly compelling logic. 

“He’s over near Scott’s stream,” was the smug farewell as the selkie slowly slunk below the water once more.

Derek huffed ostentatiously just to make sure she knew how much he didn’t want to do this. But a fond smile curled at his mouth anyway. He heaved himself to his feet and set off to fix everything he had thought he lost. 

* * *

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Derek replied honestly to Stiles’ stubbornly turned back. “I figured you would be.” He swallowed nervously. “You told me to wait until I was ready to talk. I… I’m ready now.” 

When Stiles made to turn around, Derek hurriedly blurted, “Wait, can you, uh, not?” 

Stiles froze, making a confused noise in his throat. 

“I just, uh… It might be easier if I didn’t have to look at you,” offered Derek weakly. Although mortified, he stood fast. It would be better for everyone if he didn’t have to see the disgust and revulsion appear on Stiles’ face as he learned just what kind of monster Derek really was. 

Stiles seemed a little bemused, but nodded and resettled himself. He obligingly stared straight ahead at a tree trunk. 

“Thank you,” Derek whispered. Then he began to talk. And he didn’t stop, not even when his voice trembled and faltered or when his throat grew raw and achy. He brushed off Stiles’ offers of water because Derek knew if he paused, he wouldn’t be able to start again. He had to just rip the bandage off. 

It started off easily enough, explaining everyone in his vast family from his youngest cousins to his oldest great aunt. “They weren’t all wolves,” he said, remembering all the times his human family members had sported scrapes and bruises from their adventurous excursions, “but they were all pack.” 

Eventually, Derek stopped even looking at Stiles’ hunched back and tense shoulders. His mouth kept moving, but he turned his attention to the small bouquet of buttercups peeking out of the ground next to an ant hill. He absentmindedly reached out to thumb absently at the yellow flowers. When he arrived at Kate and his family’s death, the bright petals quivered under his unsteady touch. 

“Not everyone died,” admitted Derek. He tucked his trembling hands back into his lap. “My two sisters, Laura and Cora, they both left with me when we realized there was nothing left of our home. Kate and her hunters discovered the job wasn’t done and were on the hunt, so we ran. We travelled together until a huge thunderstorm separated me and Laura from our baby sister. We never found Cora again.” 

Taking a breath to compose himself, Derek felt the air punch out of his lungs as the loss crashed over him. Derek kept going, “Then Laura was killed by a rogue wolf. And it was just me.”

A gentle hand found its way onto Derek’s shoulder. He was sitting on a log glaring at the buttercups as if they could tell him why his life had been so difficult, why he had felt so much more grief than any one person should ever experience. The flowers stared back uselessly. Derek looked up. 

A watery smile tugged at Stiles’ lips. “You know, your traumatic past is making it really hard to stay mad at you right now.” Then he seriously added, “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know any of this and I can’t imagine half of what you’ve gone through. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Scott or Kira, let alone everyone I loved. I understand that they’re your ghosts and secrets to keep, but I just wished you’d trust me enough to share. And I might’ve lost my temper a bit.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “But you opened up to me, so thank you.” 

“You deserved to know,” Derek shrugged. He hesitantly reached for Stiles’ hand, bit his lip, and stopped. “It’s just… not easy telling every single one of your mistakes to someone whose opinion you care about, someone who you want to keep in your life. And I have a lot of mistakes.” 

Stiles frowned at this, not sure where Derek was coming from. As far as Stiles was concerned, Derek was the clear victim in all this. But he figured that was a battle for another day. Today was about opening up to each other in an effort to restabilize their budding relationship. “You’re not the only one who’s messed up,” he said carefully, plopping down to sit beside the wolf. Their shoulders brushed. “You’re not the only one who’s seen death.”

“Your family?” 

“My parents,” nodded Stiles. “My mom died when I was just a kid. Maybe around 80 years old. We had one winter that was particularly warm, not cold enough to kill the bark beetles and termites. She never really recovered after that, just got worse and worse like some sort of disease that just eats you away until you’re just a shell of what you used to be. Her branches got real brittle and her leaves turned yellow. He trunk grew soft and her bark fell off if you touched it. 

“Dad and I were never the same. Sometimes, I wondered if the bark beetles hadn’t gotten to us too, you know? I just felt so hollow.” 

“I’m sorry.” The words felt so empty and meaningless on his tongue, but Derek didn’t know what else to say. The trained, purposefully blank mask Stiles wore broke Derek’s heart, but he could at least understand. It was easier to pretend that the yawning emptiness in your gut just didn’t exist. He leaned into Stiles slightly, letting out a relieved breath when Stiles didn’t pull away. 

“Dad was devastated.” Bitter sadness soured the air. Derek bit back an upset whine. “At least his death wasn’t painful and prolonged like that, you know? I mean deforestation is awful, but he was gone in a day or two. Real quick and clean.”

“The humans here did that?” demanded Derek with a growl, eyes flaring an angry red. 

“What? No, of course not,” assured Stiles quickly. “No, those people moved away not long after Dad died. My humans treat me and Scott just fine. Allison and her family are in charge of them, and they’ve always been good to us.” 

Derek lowered his hackles, satisfied those people were gone if still a little miffed they were wandering around causing destruction elsewhere. 

“Speaking of Beacon Hills, I still have to bring you into town sometime,” Stiles grinned, nudging Derek in excitement. “The humans love anything supernatural. They’ll adore you. Oh, and the autumn equinox is coming up; let’s make it a date.” 

“So does this mean we’re okay?” asked Derek uncertainly. He thought their talk went surprisingly well. But then again, he’d been expecting Stiles to take one disgusted look at him and storm away, so it wasn’t like Derek had set the bar that high. 

“I still want to know more about you,” Stiles insisted, reaching to link their fingers loosely. Something warm bloomed in Derek’s chest as his gaze flicked from their clasped hands to Stiles’ bright amber eyes. “I don’t want you to ever be afraid of telling me something. But yeah, for now we’re good. Now get over here, I haven’t kissed you in, like,  a week .” 

Derek’s eyes crinkled and he leaned in. Their kiss was too much clacking teeth because he was smiling too much, but he didn’t really care. He didn’t think Stiles did either judging on the way the dryad laughed against Derek’s mouth, hand tangled in Derek’s hair. 

Cupping Stiles’ face in one hand, Derek rubbed a cheekbone with his thumb. “I really missed you,” he admitted, pressing a butterfly kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

“Me too, big guy,” Stiles mumbled to Derek’s temple, hugging him close. “Even if you do hog the whole bed.” 

“What can I say? It’s one of my many charms,” deadpanned Derek. 

Stiles’ laugh rang loud and clear through the forest.

* * *

That night, as Stiles lay hopelessly starfished out in their nest and Derek had long since given up trying to push the dryad into a less space-consuming sleeping position, the wolf gazed at the stars. He wondered if maybe this was his regression to the mean.

The stars glittered back silently, answerless. 

Curling closer to Stiles, he rested his muzzle in the crook of the dryad’s neck and breathed in the comforting scent. If it was, and everything was doomed to spill downhill from now on, then Derek was going to savor this.


	7. Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys go on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! Okay this chapter and chapter 9 are probably tied for my favorite chapter jsyk. Also I was just reading over the next chapter and there's some shit I gotta fix, so it may or may not be posted on time next Saturday. Thanks for the feedback as always.

When Stiles dragged Derek to the equinox festival the next day with a, “C’mon, dude, I promised Scott and Allison I’d meet them there,” Derek retorted, “Don’t call me dude,” and prepared himself to spend the whole day miserable. He would never understand why supernatural creatures like themselves would ever willingly go to a place crowded with humans.

Well, he could sort of understand lovestruck Scott, who could probably watch the whole damn forest burn without noticing so long as Allison was anywhere in the vicinity. It made Derek nervous that Stiles trusted someone so blinded by infatuation of a human. Derek had tried to love a human once; it hadn’t gone so great.

But tragic life stories aside, Derek still couldn’t wrap his head around why Stiles was so obsessed with a stupid festival held by— _and for_ , he grumped to Stiles, who just laughed, “Lighten up”—humans. It wasn’t even necessarily lingering distrust from Kate, although that played a part. It was just that, in his travels, Derek had seen human towns and cities. There wasn’t anything that great about them.

Sure, growing up isolated and safe in the woods meant there had been some novelty at first, but that had worn off as fast as mist burned away in the sunrise. The filthy air burned his lungs, the forests looked one puff of engine exhaust away from dying, the toxic water resembled sludge. In other words, everything a nature spirit should detest.

Additionally, people tended to freak out about massive black wolves prowling around. After the first couple trigger-happy mobs, he had taken to avoiding human settlements as much as possible.

Yet here Derek was, being hauled around through the vivacious marketplace by Stiles’ vice grip on his hand. He had tried to come as a wolf. However, Stiles had contended that Derek would want opposable thumbs for their outing, which, surprisingly, turned out not completely gods awful.

As twilight fell, the whole place shimmered like a beacon with twinkling fairy lights and colored paper lanterns. The main plaza had been converted into a huge, open air bazaar with all sorts of booths selling variegated trinkets from bolts of silky cloth to vibrant masks and costumes. Derek’s nose twitched every time they passed a heavenly smelling tent that offered sweet meats, piping hot pork buns, fruity ice drinks, or savory curries. The square bustled with people buying food or playing carnival games and kids excitedly weaving in and out of the crowd.

At first Derek balked at the hordes of humans, leery of how it all overwhelmed his senses. So Stiles took his hand reassuringly, and they kept to the outskirts that housed smaller vendors. Nevertheless Derek saw the longing looks Stiles kept casing to the center of the festival and tugged the dryad over to it. The noise of it all hurt his ears, but Derek deemed Stiles’ blinding smile worth it. His ears would adjust.

As they gravitated closer to the most lively part of the plaza, more and more people stopped to talk with Stiles, who enthusiastically greeted each and every one.

“Hey, Tara, how are you? Is your husband running the teriyaki booth as usual? He is? Awesome, me and Derek’ll definitely stop by.”

“Parrish, dude, what’s up? Yes, I am staying out of trouble, sheesh. Don’t worry, Derek is more of a wet blanket than you are.”

“Yo, Mason, where’s Liam? He owes me a corn on the cob. He and Hayden are doing _what_ behind the animal clinic? Oh, gross, never mind.”

“Gwen! How’re you and your sister? Still kicking butt in lacrosse?”

“Uh… hi, Matt.”

Derek, who did his best to keep up with the whirlwind of names, instantly jerked to attention at Stiles’ uneasy tone. He glared at the sketchy-looking guy who had stopped to make awkward small talk with Stiles. He growled a little under his breath until Matt quickly walked away.

“That was weird,” muttered Stiles, watching Matt’s retreating back. “And stop that.” He elbowed Derek in the ribs. “Daehler’s not a bad guy.” At Derek’s skeptical look, he added, “Per se. I mean, he’s a little strange, a little weird, but not evil or anything. But yeah, we never talk so I wonder why he came up to us. I think he’s got this creepy thing for Allison too.”

Derek was more than happy to keep on moving. And if he kept alert for any sign of Matt for the next twenty minutes and subtly urged Stiles in the opposite direction of where he could spot the back of Matt’s head, no one had to know.

But it was hard to stay serious and, according Stiles, “scowly” when Stiles was so clearly in his element. The lanterns lit up his face a dozen colors even as the sun slowly slid down the sky and the shadows lengthened. His lips glistened where he had licked away the sweet, sticky sauce from the rice cakes they’d been given earlier—on the house because apparently Stiles’ mere presence was a sign of good fortune for Beacon Hills.

Five rice cakes and three fried dough balls later, Derek finally brought up something that had been niggling in the back of his mind. “That one man, Peary? Pairly?”

“Parrish,” Stiles offered.

“He wasn’t human.” Derek thought about the smoky scent of Parrish, so clearly supernatural.

“Nope, hellhound.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, impressed. “I’ve heard stories, but I’ve never met one in person.

“Now you have,” chirped Stiles helpfully. “Deaton says I tend to draw supers to me, so you’ll probably see a lot of them here tonight. Some of them live here in town, and some come here specially for the festivities. Something about ley lines, I think.”

“Deaton?”

Stiles continued to rummage for crumbs in the paper bag the dough balls came in. “Yeah, Dr. Deaton is the local vet/druid. Kind of an odd mix, I know. But, on the bright side, he can give you a rabies shot while keeping the balance of the universe, or whatever it is druids do.”

“Dog jokes, Stiles? That’s what we’ve been reduced to?” Derek grumbled, but he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the sight of Stiles’ grin.

“Consider yourself lucky I’ve held myself back for so long,” Stiles winked. “So, how do you feel about ring toss?”

Stiles laughed loudly, his whole face open and delighted when Derek couldn't successfully toss a single plastic ring onto the necks of the empty glass bottles set in the middle of a game booth. Derek scowled as Stiles stepped up for his turn. But his frown softened almost imperceptibly when Stiles offered him the bear-shaped plushy he’d won.

“It’s all in the wrist,” Stiles stage-whispered as if he was giving away the secret of the century.

“Don’t feel too bad,” the blonde-haired woman running the booth soothed Derek with a friendly, if toothy, grin, “Stilinski’s had years of practice.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at her while she added, “You new here? I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered a face as pretty as yours.”

Derek felt his ear tips burning and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

“Don’t mind Erica,” said the broad-shouldered man working the booth with the blond. He wrapped a familiar arm around her waist. “She likes to pretend being half wolf means having no manners. I’m Boyd, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Derek shook the proffered hand. “Derek Hale.” He subtly flared his nostrils and indeed caught the underlying piney scents of wolves.

“So, Stilinski, where’s your new friend from?” Erica pressed, eyes gleaming more impishly than Derek was strictly comfortable with.

“How about we all stop gossiping and actually get some work done,” drawled the third and final person in the game booth. Derek glanced toward the curly-haired man, who gathered the thrown rings off the bottles and ground to redistribute them to customers in sets of ten in exchange for gold coins.

“You’re no fun, Isaac,” pouted Erica, but obligingly slithered out of Boyd’s grip to attend to some of the eager looking kids crowding at the tent opening. She tiptoed to smack an obnoxiously wet kiss on his cheek anyways.

“I hope to see you both soon,” Boyd remarked before leaving Stiles and Derek to help the other two.

Derek raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Polyamory,” shrugged Stiles. “It’s a thing. Now come on.” Stiles grinned eagerly, tugging Derek by the hand toward the far side of the festival. “The dancing is starting. Scott and Allison are probably already there.”

“I’m not dancing, Stiles,” Derek groused resolutely.

“You’ll change your mind,” assured Stiles confidently. “Just wait. There’s nothing like equinox dances. They’re incredible.”

Derek gripped Stiles hand just a little harder as they were swept away with the crowd, most of which seemed to be heading in the same direction. People squeezed closer to him, jostling Derek and clogging his senses. His breathing came shallower. He pushed down his rising discomfort.

Instantly, Stiles appeared at his side, slowing down and letting Derek bury his face against Stiles’ neck for a moment. Stiles’ slender fingers carded through his hair as he murmured, “Hey, you’re okay. I know it’s a lot to take in. You’re okay.”

Eventually, Derek’s erratic pulse smoothed and he pulled away to nod gratefully. Stiles’ lips brushed the corner of his mouth. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” Derek swallowed and was relieved to notice that the throng of people had thinned. A few stragglers remained, easily giving the two of them a wide berth. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around so many people.” A bead of sweat slid down his neck, cool when an evening breeze picked up.

Stiles’ forehead creased in concern at Derek’s stilted, jerky words. “We don’t have to go, you know. We can go home if you want.”

 _Home_. The word sent a jolt through Derek’s stomach, at how nonchalantly Stiles had said it. Derek hadn’t had a home since he was a teenager.

It sounded tempting, but, “No, I’m good. Let’s go. Scott’s waiting.”

“If you’re totally sure.” However Stiles’ mouth already curled up at the corners, uncontainable excitement bubbling back up. “You’re gonna love it; don’t worry.”

Derek wasn’t worried, but if he had been, that consternation would’ve gone right out the window. They had cleared a vast, ovular area on the outskirts of the main town. In the center sat a raised wooden platform with two twin **taiko** drums resting on it. Painted white circles radiated outward to create concentric lanes where countless people already lined up.

It looked like most of Beacon Hills came, the adults milling around and chattering while the children raced about with exhilarated shrieks. Many people had pulled on colorful summer overcoats, royal blues and flashy pinks. They were light and made of cotton, easily breathing in the humid night air. People also wore a multitude of scarves over shoulders or as sashes around waists.

Derek had never seen anything quite like it.

Huge wooden poles were erected around the perimeter to string up more lanterns and fluttering paper strips. “What are those?” Derek squinted at the white paper, trying to make out the writing on them, but couldn’t make anything out in the dark.

“For good luck.” Stiles glanced around for a moment before going, “Aha!” and kneeling down to smile at a little boy who looked at him with wide, awed eyes. “Hi, buddy, can I borrow this for a sec?” He gestured to the fan clasped between the boy’s hands. The boy looked to his mother for confirmation and nodded shyly.

Stiles thanked him and straightened up to show Derek. “See, they’re ancient runes for all sorts of things. A prosperous harvest, a short winter, peace, you name it. I think this one is for happiness.”

Derek blinked. He delicately traced the long, sloping curves and elegant angles of the beautiful, black strokes painted onto the paper that wrapped around the wooden frame of the fan.

Stiles handed it back with a friendly smile. “May the gods be kind.”

The mother gave him a grateful look. “To you as well.”

Then the drum beats picked up, pounding out a smooth rhythm. A lone wooden flute joined, its reedy tone spiraling high above the thrumming bass line. “It’s the traditional opening dance,” explained Stiles as he tugged Derek around the edge, eyes scanning the crowd for Scott or Allison.

Derek knew he should’ve helped look, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the dancers. Now the music had started up in earnest with a steady beat and occasional chanting in a language Derek didn’t recognize. The lines of dancers started to move as well, circling the wooden scaffolding. Everyone danced in sync with slow flowing movements, swirling and graceful. Even the children seemed to get the hang of it for the most part, occasionally tripping over their too long _hapi_ coats or dropping the vibrant scarves draped around their necks. But the effect mesmerized Derek.

Stiles located Scott and turned to drag Derek over to him and Allison. But then Stiles glanced over his shoulder and saw the overwhelmed expression on Derek’s face. Not the the bad, _please take me home I’m uncomfortable and/or scared_ kind, but the good, _wow, I can’t believe something this beautiful exists_ kind. Derek looked truly wonderstruck, face open and awed.

It had Stiles checking himself, biting his tongue if only to memorize the reverential look on Derek’s face. Glancing hastily back at Scott, who slowly moved further away as the line of dancers circled counterclockwise, Stiles made a split second decision.

“Hey, wanna watch for a bit?”

Derek nodded almost shyly, eyes shining hopefully.

Stiles bit his lip to stop an, “Awww!” or something equally embarrassing from bursting out. He had never seen Derek like this, eager to learn about something new. Not to mention the fact that Derek was almost embarrassed to admit it. Stiles was going to die from the cuteness overload. Not the most dignified way to go, but he would take it.

Unable to help himself, Stiles brought their joined hands up to brush his lips over Derek’s knuckles. The faint pink staining Derek’s cheeks and the tips of his ears was just the nail in Stiles’ coffin. Stiles had zero regrets.

Then Derek leaned forward to place a bashful peck on Stiles’ cheek, eyes crinkling adorably.

Hell, Stiles had negative regrets. He felt like a teenager again, awkwardly on his first date where everything led to blushing and stilted conversations. Or at least that was what Scott had always told him. Stiles had never actually been looked at twice before, so he was allowed to be cheesy and romantic with his first boyfriend, okay? Especially when aforementioned boyfriend happened to look like a freaking Greek god carved from marble and blessed by the heavens.

With all this in mind, Stiles led his _hot like an O-type star_ —he read somewhere that an O-type star was the hottest kind, so it seemed appropriate—boyfriend to the rickety wooden bleachers scattered around the edge of the dancing area for spectators. Simple metal chairs also sat dispersed between the bleachers for the overflow of people. But it was early yet, so they were mostly empty.

Stiles firmly tugged Derek to the topmost bleachers row. It had the best view for Derek’s pleasure. Plus, a chilly breeze swept by, which had him snuggling against Derek’s warm side much to Stiles’ pleasure. It was a win-win situation for all parties involved.

“Thank you.”

From where he had happily burrowed underneath Derek’s arm, Stiles glanced up in confusion.

“For bringing me here,” clarified Derek, eyes still alight as he gazed at the swaying sea of people covered in brilliant floral patterns. The flickering lanterns kept the darkness at bay. The moon rose high overhead.

“We should definitely come back again next year,” agreed Stiles. Then he froze, heart pounding madly in his chest when he realized what he’d implied. Stiles bit his lip, nervous to how Derek would react to how Stiles had assumed that they would even last long enough to return. What they had was so new and tentative that Stiles worried d he had crossed some unspoken line and ruined everything. It wasn’t fair to suppose that Derek would even want to stick around for that long.

But Derek didn’t seem fazed. “I’d like that,” he easily agreed before pulling Stiles closer and returning to his peoplewatching.

Stiles let out a relieved breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Me too, dude. Me too.”

* * *

“There!” Stiles shouted too loud over the fading music, drawing a lot of attention. But he was too busy pointing to where he could just see the top of Scott’s head to notice much. Some people threw them weird looks. Derek glared right back.

“Sorry.”

“’Scuse us.”

“Pardon me.”

“Derek, watch out!”

After a couple minutes of awkward jockeying and zigzagging in and out of the lines of dancers, they finally managed to slip behind Scott and Allison. “Scotty!” Stiles’ grinned like a madman. He swept first Scott and then Allison into a hug.

“Hey, you guys made it.” Scott grinned, but hesitated when he looked to Derek. He knew Derek didn’t like to be touched without express permission from anyone except Stiles. Their bathing fiasco may have happened months ago, but Derek had never completely conquered his skittishness.

Sure enough, Allison stepped forward with her arms open wide, and Derek stiffened. Scott was just about to pull Allison back, a warning to her on the tip of his tongue, when Derek jerkily bridged the remaining gap. He looked extremely awkward, scowl firmly in place. Nonetheless, he managed to even wrap his arms gingerly around her torso and mechanically pat her back.

Scott shared a surprised look with Stiles, who beamed and proudly wiped away an imaginary tear. “He’s like a real boy.”

Derek growled at him in annoyance. Stiles just cackled.

Chuckling fondly, Scott decided not to prolong Derek’s torture and settled for a friendly nod. Derek looked grateful and relieved. He nodded back and retreated to Stiles’ side.

“Where were you earlier?” asked Scott. “You missed the opening dance.”

“Derek wanted to watch,” shrugged Stiles like it was no big deal. “It’s his first time, and it’s easier to see from the sidelines than while you’re actually dancing, you know?”

Scott’s eyes widened in surprise, but he kept his mouth shut.

Allison scrunched her eyebrows and opened her mouth, but the starting bell chimes of the next song interrupted her. She smiled helplessly and turned around to face the correct way as the line began to move.

Stiles did his best not to burst out laughing at Derek’s deer in the headlights expression, but he ended up only somewhat successful. “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “Just get behind me and copy what I do. It’s not that hard, I swear.”

“Easy for you to say,” hissed Derek as he stumbled through the steps. Luckily, the song was relatively slow. Surreptitiously sneaking glances at people in the rows beside him, Derek did his best to mimic them. Unluckily, he spotted a boy who couldn’t have been any older than six who was going through the motions without a hitch.

Derek glowered harder and started plotting all of the creative ways he could murder Stiles in his sleep. That, of course, devolved into him daydreaming about all the ways he could turn Stiles into a panting, writhing mess with his tongue or his hands. So Derek abandoned that particular train of thought like it was on fire and hurtling over a precipice. He might actually die of mortification if he had to beg off an inappropriate bathroom break.

Like he knew exactly where Derek’s mind wandered to, Stiles cast a wicked grin over his shoulder. The artificial light threw the shadows of his long lashes across his cheeks and lit up his amber eyes. Derek’s breath caught; he was so hypnotized by the lean lines of Stiles’ body gliding through the fluid motions. It was so different from the usual way Stiles was: all sharp angles and too-fast thoughts.

Then Stiles, pleased to see Derek wasn’t blundering about too horribly, turned to face forward once again. And the moment shattered, leaving Derek with nothing but a short circuiting brain and the abrupt realization that he was falling so damn hard. He was so far gone on Stiles that he wasn’t sure if he would ever recover. It was terrifying in the best kind of way. By now, Derek should’ve known better than to trust anyone so wholly again. Yet here he was, drowning in this earnest, whiskey-eyed, cupid-bow-lipped dryad.

Derek was so fucking unprepared to deal with this epiphany that he stubbornly shoved it to the backburner to properly panic over later. He forced himself to focus on the here and now. He might be scared of falling in love, but he was more scared of losing the moment he and Stiles had now. They would never get this back.

Once he really put his mind to it, Derek picked up on the dance pattern relatively quickly. The moves could be complicated, but weren’t too fast. Even if he wasn’t the most graceful one out there, Derek was confident he wasn’t the worst. Probably. So that was something at least.

“Hey,” Stiles shouted over the dimming music once the song had ended and people restlessly ambled around as everyone took five, “me and Allie are gonna head back and grab a couple waters. Plus, that centaur working at the coin toss totally challenged my manhood.”

“You didn’t talk to a centaur,” pointed out Derek, eyebrows scrunching in confusion. He hadn’t seen even a single wisp of a horse tail anywhere. How could something that big even fit into the game booth? The tents weren’t small per se, but they were hardly roomy enough to house an entire horse-sized creature either.

“He challenged me with his eyes, Der,” Stiles argued. “He didn’t have to speak. So, you guys want anything?”

“Yeah, what about one of those icy fruit things that Liam’s family sells?” Scott grinned, unendingly amused by his best friend’s antics. “Derek?”

Derek shook his head. He fidgeted slightly when he realized this would leave him and Scott alone. He knew they hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot initially, but he liked to think that they had gotten past their more rocky grievances. Though they might never be best friends, Scott was someone Derek would want on his side of a battle.

“He really likes you, you know,” Scott said conversationally as he watched Stiles and Allison’s disappearing forms. His mouth quirked up as he saw Stiles link his arm through Allison’s as they walked away, chatting animatedly.

Derek bit his lip, hating how the tips of his ears were probably turning red. “Uh…”

“C’mon,” Scott gestured to an empty spot on the bleachers, “let’s sit.”

“What made you say that?” asked Derek as Scott took a seat beside him.

“He missed _bon odori_.”

Derek tipped his head.

“The first dance,” Scott added. “Allison and I were looking for him.”

Derek raised one eyebrow. He hardly saw how that could be used to gauge Stiles’ attraction to him.

“It’s his favorite,” explained Scott. “He and his mom never missed it once, and after she died, Stiles never did either. It’s special to him, something to keep him connected to her even after she was gone.”

Derek felt hot shame bubble up in his gut and swallowed hard. Stiles had hesitated before asking if Derek wanted to watch the first dance. Now he knew why. Suddenly feeling defensive at what he thought was Scott’s accusatory tone, Derek snapped out, “It’s not my fault Stiles decided to sit with me. I told him he didn’t have to.”

“Derek, dude, chill,” Scott said, raising his hands placatingly.

Derek stayed stiff, but he held his tongue. He hated how quick he was to give into his insecurities, how he immediately sought to lash out. He wanted Scott to like him, but he couldn’t reign in his temper.

“I didn’t mean it was a bad thing or anything,” Scott added. “I was just saying that’s how much Stiles likes you. Maybe even loves you, I don’t know.”

Derek scoffed, hating how his heart skipped a beat.

“No, seriously.” Scott smiled softly, face open and earnest. “I’m really happy he found you.”

“What, no ‘if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you’ talk?” Derek asked skeptically, not wanting to think about the sort of faith Scott was putting in him.

“Do I need to give you one?” Scott pointed out with a shrug. “You seem like the kind of person who would die before you voluntarily hurt someone you care about. I mean, Stiles is loyal to a fault too. He’s not quick to trust by any means. But you look like you’ve been hurt by people who you thought you could trust. That’s how I know I can trust you with my best friend’s heart.”

And Derek, well he couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

Stiles came back to find Scott saying, “And _then_ , Stiles tried to pretend this was his way of coming out to his dad like the sheriff didn’t totally catch us red handed drinking and partying at midnight with the fauns. Not to mention we were drunk off our asses. I swear Stiles was grinding on a tree at one point. Not a sentient dryad tree, either; just a regular one. Oh man, his dad’s face was priceless.”

Although his initial reaction was to slap a hand over Scott’s mouth to stop anymore embarrassing stories from coming out, Stiles checked himself when he saw the delighted gleam in Derek’s crinkled eyes. Neither he nor Scott had yet noticed Stiles’ return. When Derek revealed an adorable bunny-toothed smile and his shoulders shook with silent laughter, something warm and pleased bloomed in Stiles chest.

He waited until Scott had finished his anecdote before dramatically yelping in mortification to announce his presence. Flailing wildly, Stiles glared his best friend into submission to prevent Scott from telling anymore horribly humiliating tales that would send Derek scurrying. Hey, it wasn’t Stiles’ fault that Beacon Hills fauns threw the best raves around for miles.

Allison shot Stiles a knowing look that he pointedly ignored.

“So what did you think?” Stiles prompted. “Wanna go another round or should we just sit and watch?”

Derek folded his arms uncomfortably, default scowl already in place. “You don’t have to stay with me. Dance if you want to.”

“What if I’d rather spend time with you?”

“But you love dancing,” protested Derek weakly, curling in on himself. “Scott said so. You don’t need to take pity on me or anything. Go have fun.”

Stiles tentatively reached out a hand. He searched Derek’s eyes, the fractals of green and blue and speckles of gold. Swallowing down the nerves gnawing at him, Derek bridged the gap to link their fingers together. He breathed in Stiles’ calming scent, all fruity sweetness and loamy undertones.

“Believe it or not,” Stiles said softly, “I actually do like hanging out with you, dark broodiness and all.”

“I don’t **brood**.”

“That’s so cute how you think denying a 500 percent true fact will somehow make it untrue.” Stiles popped a quick kiss onto the end of Derek’s nose with a mischievous smirk. Derek playfully snapped his teeth in retaliation. “Now let’s go find a spot before all the good ones are taken. I wanna be able to see all the dancers.”

* * *

“These festivals aren’t just to have a good time, you know,” Stiles told him quietly. The final dance had just ended with a great cheer and applause. Now people gradually dispersed to return to the plaza or chose to hang around and talk.

He and Derek were still perched on the bleachers, watching everyone meandering about. Derek was on the topmost row with Stiles cradled between his legs on the level below. Stiles tipped back his head, closing his eyes and exaggeratedly puckering his lips for a kiss.

Fondly rolling his eyes at his ridiculous boyfriend, Derek leaned down to indulge Stiles in a quick peck. “What do you mean?”

Leaning back and twisting his neck to rub his cheek against Derek’s chest, Stiles explained, “They were originally to celebrate the spirits of our ancestors.”

Derek hummed interestedly, carding his hand through Stiles’ hair. It had grown a fair amount since they had first met, and he secretly hoped Stiles wouldn’t shear it short again. Derek liked the way the silky strands felt beneath his hands.

“People used to have shrines and altars dedicated to the spirits too, but they’ve become less common. This festival though, I like to think it will always remain. There’s an ancient story that goes along with it.

“They say that one day the mother of a monk fell ill and died. Saddened, the monk travelled to the horizon of the world and gazed where the line dividing the living and the dead was most blurred. There, he saw his mother was suffering in the lowest spirit realm, the Land of Hungry Ghosts. He was so distraught that he climbed the ladder to Heaven and sought the council of the gods. They told him to make an offering to the tortured, damned spirits on the day where night and day were nearly equal.”

“The autumn equinox,” murmured Derek, scratching lightly at Stiles’ scalp.

Stiles nodded and continued to recite, “So the monk did as he was told and his mother was elevated to the heavens where she would exist happily for the rest of her afterlife. Delighted, the monk danced for joy and this dance became known as _bon odori_. For that reason it’s always the very first dance of every one of these festivals, so we remember the joy the monk felt when he remembered and loved those who had past.”

“That’s what all this—” Derek made a wide, all encompassing gesture “—was. It was paying homage to… to family.”

“Yeah, a little morbid if you think about it too hard, but I like it. I think it’s incredible humans come up with things like this. Dad used to love it. He said it made him feel closer to Mom even if it’s just a story.” Stiles wiped a little at his eyes and Derek comfortingly slung his arms around him. “I think he was right though. Maybe it started out as some made up tale, but sometimes I swear I can feel the veils between the the spirit world and ours thinning. Does that sound crazy?”

Derek shook his head, voice suddenly hoarse. “No. I think I can feel it too.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Derek knew they were true. For the first time in a long time, Derek was thinking about his family and it didn’t hurt like it used to. It was a healthy kind of hurt. Not the kind that would rip him open and spill his innards onto the cold ground, but like picking the scab off a half-healed wound to bare the shiny pink scar to the cool air.

His mind was filled Laura’s laugh and Cora’s mischievous smile, not smoke and screaming flames. He could hear the giggle of his baby cousin Tyler and smell his mom’s subtle perfume instead of choking on cinders and ash. It felt like rediscovering a piece of his past that he’d forgotten how much he missed. It felt a little bit like finding a bit of himself again—a little cracked and not exactly what he once was, but still okay.

Yeah, he was still okay.

Stiles let out a soft sigh, tugging Derek’s arms tighter around himself.

“Where are they going?”

“Hmm?” Stiles mumbled sleepily, eyelids fluttering where they’d been drooping.

“Everyone’s leaving.” Derek sounded perplexed. Sure enough, the dance area was nearly abandoned. The bazaar appeared pretty empty too when Derek craned his neck to peer at it.

Looking up to the moon, Stiles studied the pale crescent before nodding to himself. “Yeah, I guess it’s about time. Scott ‘n Allie must’ve gone ahead without us. Those jerks.”

“Gone where?”

“To my favorite part of the festival. C’mon.”

And that was how Derek found himself being tugged along like a lost puppy on a leash under the fairy lights strung across the wooden center scaffolding where the abandoned taiko drums sat, through the sparsely populated plaza, back the way he and Stiles had entered earlier.

Beacon Hills fell behind them as they headed towards the river and forest, where they soon found where the majority of people had gone. The dirt road was narrow, so many were tromping through the grass toward the stream bank. There, they spread out along the creek to kneel among the rushes and mud. Some held torches to light the way and others wore faintly glowing bands around their wrists, ankles, or head. All that added with the moon and the stars was more than enough light to see by.

Something shifting on the far side of the river had Derek squinting into the darkness. Melting from the shadows to be illuminated by the light was a myriad of magical creatures that called Stiles’ forest their home, even if only temporarily in some cases. There were a handful of elementals and the selkie peeked her head up from the water, but some of them Derek had never seen before.

“The equinox kind of a big deal,” explained Stiles, nodding towards the water where Derek’s selkie was cautiously blowing bubbles toward the three beautiful young women who had just surfaced. “Even the nereids show up, and I almost never see them. I think Scott invites them. Water sprite camaraderie or whatever.” The nereids’ sea blue eyes roved over the seal in interest.

“Who are they?” asked Derek in a hushed tone, gazing at the two wispy and thin girls who had just drifted seemingly out of nowhere. They looked like specters with deathly pale skin and long dark hair cascading behind them. The harlequin flowers laced in their hair and behind their ears made an odd contrast.

Then Derek blinked and the sickly, ghost-like figures were replaced with smiling, rosy-cheeked girls with golden hair and laughing faces. The illusion was marred only by their gaping eye sockets, black and cold and void. Derek stiffened, taken off guard. Instantly, the mirage was flickering back to the specters.

“The **mavka** ,” Stiles said, watching them somberly. “They come to mourn the souls of children, especially girls, who have died before their time. They’ve been coming for a couple years now, ever since the Graemes lost Sally. Oh, and the Boyds’ second youngest daughter, Alicia, went missing about three years ago. No one ever found her, so they eventually had a memorial service.”

Derek nodded, turning his gaze to the other creatures creeping out of the forest: a couple more brownie families, several fairies, a lone wraith, two satyrs and a handful of fauns. From the high branches came swooping down a wyvern, a couple harpies, and a huge gryphon. Derek had never seen so many different magical creatures in one place was impressed by the sheer variety of beasts that Stiles homed. He was even more astonished at the temporary harmony between them all when he was sure that a fairy would make a nice wyvern snack. However, he wasn’t surprised that most of them hadn’t gone to the festivities; even if Beacon Hills was an exception, humans weren’t known for being benevolent towards supers.

Somewhat intimidated, Derek stepped closer to Stiles, who just grinned like a hoard of highly dangerous magical beings weren’t right across the river.

“Pretty good haul this year, as far as supernatural creatures go,” Stiles observed, thumb tapping on the back of Derek’s hand where their fingers were lazily intertwined. “Sometimes it’s only me, Scott, Kira, and the Beacon Hills pack around during the equinox. This is kind of nice. Satomi will be pleased.”

While Stiles and Derek were watching the forest, the townspeople were busy dividing into small groups along the river.

“What are they doing?”

“Praying, burning offerings, chanting,” Stiles shrugged. “It depends on the family.”

“What do you and Scott do?”

“I’ll show you.”

Dragging Derek to an empty spot that seemed to be purposefully vacant—Derek wondered if Stiles had the same site every year and the humans had saved it for him—Stiles sat down. He pulled Derek down beside him. “We’ll wait for Scott and Allison, then we’ll start.”

Derek nodded and took the opportunity to continue observing what those around him were doing. A couple feet away, the brownie family from the north part of the woods seemed to be piling a mix of strong smelling spices and mushrooms onto a broad, waxy leaf. They chattered away in their unintelligible language what Derek could only assume were prayers.

To the right, Tara Graeme and a man that Derek assumed to be her husband stood side by side as they gazed tearily down at single burning candle. “They lost their daughter last year to pneumonia,” explained Stiles quietly. “Sally was only eleven.”

Heart clenching, Derek quickly looked away. One of his sisters had been named Sally.

“Oh look, here comes Scott. Finally.”

“I heard that,” huffed Scott as he jogged up to them.

“Kind of the point, dude,” Stiles snarked back. He made grabby hands for whatever was cradled in Scott’s arms. “Gimme.”

It turned out to be a variety of things: a flower, a nectarine, an orange, a swatch of silk that looked vaguely familiar to what Derek had seen being sold at the festival, a loaf of bread, a steaming mug, and a goblet brimming with a dark liquid were just a few of them.

Stiles carefully laid all this out on the ground. Further away, Allison set down everything she had been carrying as well. Derek’s nose twitched at the scent of lavender. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the seemingly random items.

“Just watch,” Stiles instructed. Then he started pulling at the reedy grass. Clearing away the debris from a shallow pit in the soft ground, he revealed a well worn fire pit. Piling the grass for tinder in the center, he walked to where Tara and her family were doing something similar. “Hey, can I borrow this?” He nodded at the candle.

“Of course.” Tara’s smile was watery but genuine.

“Thank you. May the gods smile on you and your family both in this life and the life beyond.” Stiles’ words sounded memorized and had Derek wondering if it was some sort of customary phrase.

“Same to you,” Tara replied.

Thanking her and making his way back to Derek, Stiles knelt and touched the tiny candle flame to the dry grass he’d gathered until a weak yellow light began to gnaw at the smoking vegetation. He blew softly until the sparks billowed into a true fire. Derek bit back a shudder and scooted back a couple inches.

As Stiles returned the candle, Derek glanced around to see the entire riverside alight with fires of varying sizes, flickering and dancing like glowing ghosts in the dark. It was beautiful in its own kind of morbid way.

“What now?” he asked, gathering his courage to poke a piece of grass into the fire’s tiny maw.

“Now we pray and burn the offerings,” responded Stiles.

Derek hummed. He’d already figured the strange objects had to be offerings of some sort. His own family hadn’t been the religious sort, but he’d heard stories and read books about places like this.

“Scotty, can I have some of your herbs? I forgot to get some earlier.”

“Sure thing, dude.”

“Sandalwood?” Derek sniffed at the sweet smelling smoke.

“For good fortune,” nodded Stiles. “And protection while we communicate with the spirits. It can’t hurt to be a little cautious even we are dealing with mostly benevolent ghosts.”

“Sage?” Derek screwed up his face at the acrid tang washing away the lingering sandalwood.

“For heightened awareness of otherworldly beings. And for healing. Even if we’re celebrating our dead, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt a little when you remember them.” Taking a pinch of something from the bowl between Stiles’ and Scott’s distinctive fires, Stiles tossed it into the flames as well. “And finally, mullein to call our lost spirits home in case they’ve wandered too far to find their way back.”

It didn’t make a lot of practical sense to Derek, burning all these things, but he wasn’t about to shit on the local religion. Just because his family had never done anything like this didn’t make it worthless. He was fairly sure that his family would’ve been fascinated by these rituals even if they didn’t entirely understand.

One by one, Stiles began to toss the things Scott had brought into the fire, which had grown into a good size by now. A torn piece of crust from the bread. “The dead need to eat too, you know. Well, not really, I guess. But it’s the thought that counts.” The pit of the nectarine. “Mom’s favorite.” A segment of the orange. “Dad loved oranges.” The square of fine cloth. “Don’t want them to be naked in the afterlife.” A splash of wine from the cup. “Or thirsty.” A petal from the tulip. “Dad got them for her when they first got together and for every anniversary after that.”

Trying to be respectful, Derek was silent while Stiles narrated his actions. He knew how incredible it was that Stiles was showing him this ritual. It was a huge act of trust and Derek didn’t want to screw anything up.

When Stiles finished with his offerings, he sat back and gazed at the flickering fire. He laced his fingers with Derek’s and leaned on him. Derek pressed his cheek to the top of Stiles’ head and hated the bitterly sad undercurrent of his scent. But he didn’t say anything, knowing sometimes there were no words that could lift the weight of grief. So he held Stiles the way Derek knew he would’ve wanted someone to hold him when he was just a kid whose whole world was collapsing. He desperately hoped it was enough.

Stiles wiped at a few stray tears before he shakily breathed out, “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I know it’s been a while, but it’s not every day that our realms come together like this. The autumn equinox is only once a year, you know?” He chuckled, but couldn’t quite force the humor into it. “I really miss you guys.”

The fire shivered in agreement and Derek jumped a little in surprise. Stiles squeezed his hand comfortingly.

Stiles took a shuddery breath. “Anyways, this is Derek. He lost his whole family too, so if any Hales are there with you, take care of them please. It would mean a lot to both of us.”

Derek could hear the quiet hum of everyone around them speaking in hushed voices to their own fires. But Derek couldn’t sense any answers like how Stiles’ parents seemed to be answering their son’s questions. He figured that was part of the magic, each ancestor being able to talk only with the people who had summoned it.

“Do you want to sacrifice anything?”

Derek jerked a little at Stiles’ voice, blinking at him in surprise. “Uh…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” assured Stiles. “The first time is always a little overwhelming. Maybe next year.”

“Yeah.” Derek nodded, trying to hold back the small smile curling at his lips at the implication that he and Stiles would still be together the following year. He shoved down the ridiculous urge to smile like an idiot. “I just… Can they really hear us?”

Stiles’ eyes softened at the hopeful lilt in the wolf’s voice. “Yeah, dude, they can.”

“I have so much I want to say to them,” Derek admitted finally, fidgeting. “After the fire, I never thought I’d get the chance to.” He was mortified to find something damp and warm rolling down his cheeks and quickly brushed the tears away.

“Now you can,” coaxed Stiles softly. “We have all night.” At Derek’s furtive glance around at the others paying their respects, he added, “We can wait until everyone else is done if you want, if that’ll make it easier.”

“I… Yeah, that sounds good.”

So they sat together, saying goodbye to Scott and Allison and exchanging, “May the gods smile on you and your family both in this life and the life beyond,” with anyone who stopped by. Eventually, the river bank dwindled as people drifted back toward the festival and the non-party-goers slunk back into the forest. And then it was just the two of them and a lonely ifrit gazing at the last flickering coals.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Derek debated for a minute before shaking his head. He decided Stiles deserved this much considering everything he’d bared about himself. His heart nervously fluttered in his chest, but Derek took a calming breath. If anyone had earned his trust, it was Stiles.

“It’s gonna hurt.” Stiles lightly squeezed their interlocked fingers. “The first time always does because you remember them when they were alive, and this,” he gestured vaguely to encompass the whole riverbank and festival, “it just isn’t enough.” Stiles paused, gathering his thoughts. “The humans, they look at us like we’re gods on earth or something, but they don’t realize that we’re just as powerless as them. We experience loss and pain and love.”

Derek swallowed, mustering up his own courage. “Hey, Mom,” Derek whispered. “Hey, Dad. How is everyone?”

The fire crackled in response, warm and reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentioning a dead little girl OC. 
> 
> The equinox festival is actually based on the Buddhist obon festival, so kudos to anyone who caught the similarities. The origin story about the monk, the dancing, the games/food booths, the paper lanterns, the attire, etc were all taken pretty much directly from my memories of obon festivals. However, obon is actually a summer festival not an autumn one. If anyone has anymore questions feel free to ask!


	8. They Are the Hunters (We Are the Foxes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys feel winter coming. Our girls make progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is going up a day late! I usually proof read the chapter a bit before posting and noticed last minute that I had left some parts unfinished. Hence the delay. Not to mention I've got my hands full with scholarship apps and other school stuff. Thank you for your patience! And for the feedback as always. Hope everyone has a nice 3 day weekend.

The brittle, autumn grass and crunchy leaves underfoot made hunting more difficult as time wore on. Frustrated, Derek slunk away from the rattling bushes to a more open clearing. He picked a tree on the far edge, deciding the sun would soon set and create a nice gloom that would hide his dark fur. Hunkering down and tucking his feet underneath himself, he prepared to wait a while for his next meal. Derek rested his head on his paws.

Sure enough, as the shadows lengthened, Derek’s sharp ears picked up the quiet scuffling of a rabbit. Staying as still as a statue, he honed in on the small creature. The smell of it made his mouth water. It carefully ventured from its burrow, nose twitching as it scented the air.

Counting down the heartbeats until it would be close enough to pounce on, Derek tensed his muscles in preparation. Three, two, one—

A brown blur flickered in the corner of Derek’s vision, followed by the telltale scrabbling of paws on the hard ground—the very sound he made when he was going in for a kill. Derek burst from his hiding spot just as the rabbit’s startled squeak was cut off with the sharp crack of its neck.

He curled his lip back annoyance, throat rumbling. _That was mine._ His stomach growled in agreement.

The coyote’s bloody jaws remained clamped around the rabbit’s neck, muscles tense in an instinctive fight or flight response. She warily eyed the wolf. Dropping her prize, she let out a sharp warning bark.

Then her eyes flashed a supernatural blue.

Derek straightened up in surprise. There was another shifter in Stiles’ forest. He took another step toward her, but the coyote had already taken a step back. She looked unnerved that her eyes hadn’t sent him running with his tails between his legs. Derek felt sure she was used to regular animals naturally sensing that she was a shifter and leaving her alone or being scared off by her display. She probably hadn’t been challenged like this in a long time, perhaps ever.

But then the slight breeze shifted just enough for him to get a noseful of her scent. Derek froze as memories came rushing back: flashes of vague, laughing faces; an overwhelming feeling of being loved; the almost-forgotten scent of _home_ and _pack_ that buried beneath ash and soot.

Reeling from the intensity of it all, Derek stared wide-eyed at the coyote who smelled like everything he had lost, everything he had destroyed. Perhaps not as wholly as he remembered, but even the trace amounts were enough to make his lungs constrict painfully.

 _Who are you?_ he whimpered, trying to breathe through the pain and grief lancing through his chest.

Then, in the blink of an eyes she disappeared, the tip of her tawny tail whisking behind a thicket. The only trace of the rabbit left was a small bloodstain on the ground.

* * *

“Derek seemed upset today. He didn’t even say hi when he saw me.” Kira plopped down at the entrance of Malia’s den. She always felt a little silly talking to the dark, yawning entrance of the burrow, but wanted to talk to her all the same. “Well, not say hi exactly since he was a wolf obviously. But, you know, he usually acknowledges me at least. Maybe he was on his way to see Stiles.”

Kira paused for a moment, contemplating this theory. “I mean, I’ve never seen him look as concentrated as he does when Stiles asks him to do something.” A goofy smile quirked at her mouth. “They’re so into each other. It’s adorable. He looks at Stiles like he hung the moon. Actually, scratch that. He looks at Stiles like he **is** the moon.” Then, “Malia?”

Kira’s eyebrows scrunched in concern. Usually her girlfriend—significant other? Who even knew what label was appropriate anymore?—was out and about by now. Maybe Kira had misread the signs and Malia actually wasn’t home and she’d been telling an empty cave about Stiles and Derek for the past couple minutes. That wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility if Kira was being honest. But in her defense, it had only happened once! And Malia had laughed so hard she cried when she came back to find Kira babbling away to an empty cave, so Kira couldn’t help but think her embarrassment wasn’t in vain.

But a low whimper from the darkest depths dispelled Kira’s momentary doubt. Heart rate spiking with concern, Kira crawled closer and called out again, “Malia?”

However, she didn’t dare actually cross the threshold and try to enter. Malia might have been slowly relearning human habits that she’d abandoned for years, but they were merely surface pleasantries. Underneath every lesson simmered the wild coyote that she was at heart. And trespassing on a coyote’s safe haven of a den would sure be a horrible way to die if Kira did say so herself.

“Malia, are you okay? Can you come out? Are you hurt?” At this last inquiry, it took Kira everything in her not to throw herself into the den, fatal consequences be damned.

Much to Kira’s relief, Malia slowly crept out a moment later. However, the solace was short-lived when Kira caught sight of Malia’s flattened ears, tail tucked between her legs, and hunched posture. Taking a calming breath, Kira forced herself to relax and exude a tranquil aura. She didn’t want to upset Malia anymore than she already was.

Malia rewarded Kira’s composure by slowly creeping over to crawl into her lap with a low whine.

“Hey,” Kira crooned softly. She ran a steady hand through Malia’s fur. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Wanna talk about it?”

Malia shook her head and curled up into a tight ball.

Kira sighed worriedly, but obligingly kept quiet and scratched Malia’s ears.

* * *

“You’re later than usual,” Stiles commented later as Derek padded into the clearing. Stiles was pleased to see that the tangle of knotted roots that spread out from the base of his tree no longer tripped up the wolf despite the dark as he made his way to the dryad.

Derek, still miffed about his lost rabbit and disoriented from what had happened, just huffed and curled up in his shallow nest near the base of Stiles’ willow.

“Upset because Malia stole your kill?” Stiles grinned, plopping down next him. The uneven mess of roots obligingly scooted out of the way so he had a surface that wasn’t uncomfortable or bumpy to seat himself. The wood coiled comfortingly around him.

Derek deigned to open one eye and glared.

Stiles just laughed. “Yeah, she comes and goes. Usually she’ll spend winters here. Kira tends to hang out with her, I think. Are you okay?” He peered at Derek, squinting against dying orange light filtering through the branches. “You seem different. Did something happen?”

Derek vacillated for a heartbeat, green eyes searching Stiles’ face. He figured Stiles must have simply kept a cursory tab on him since the dryad didn’t seem to know any details about Derek’s encounter with Malia. He didn’t know just how rattled the wolf was.

Flinching away from the genuine concern in Stiles’ eyes, Derek did what he always did when faced with something as terrifying as confronting his past: he ran away. Shifting so his back was firmly turned away from the dryad and his mesmerizing amber eyes, Derek tucked his nose into his tail.

Maybe if he ignored his problem long enough, it would go away. Wasn’t that the epigram Stiles always swore by? Derek had enough personal experience to know that it wouldn’t, but maybe the umpteenth time was the charm.

Trying to push down the welling hurt at the clear dismissal, Stiles visibly wilted and muttered, “Alright, goodnight to you too, sourwolf.” Rolling over to curl on his side facing away from Derek, Stiles closed his eyes and settled down for the night. Picking at the cushiony moss that made up his bed, he spent a couple sleepless hours trying to figure out when Derek had wormed his way so close to his heart. It shouldn’t piss him off and upset him so much that the wolf was ignoring him. But that didn’t change the fact that it did.

* * *

In the middle of the night, an insistent wet nose snuffling at his face jerked Stiles awake. “That’s cold, you asshole!” the dryad yelped, squirming and pushing Derek’s muzzle away. But he still magnanimously opened his arms so the wolf could lay down and rest against his chest.

“Is this your version of a shitty, ‘I’m sorry’?”

Derek glared hard, huffing.

Nevertheless, Stiles smiled softly as an apologetic tongue lapped at his neck. “You’re forgiven. And it’s not even because it’s cold tonight and I like cuddles more than I like staying mad at you.”

The wolf let out an exaggeratedly put upon sigh, but even Derek could hear the obvious affection in it.

* * *

“Stiles says I need to find an anchor, something to tie me to my human half in order to reach my fox half without losing myself.”

“Stiles is full of shit,” Malia replied without missing a beat.

Kira frowned. “He said he read it somewhere.”

“Yeah, well reading something and actually doing it are very different,” pointed out Malia.

“That’s coming from someone who _can’t_ read.”

“I’m trying!”

“You made me come three times last time we quote unquote ‘tried.’”

A wicked grin matched the predatory gleam in Malia’s eyes. “Wanna try for four?”

“Wait, timeout,” Kira firmly pushed Malia away to a safe distance, tearing her eyes away from where Malia was licking her lips, “Focus.”

Pouting, Malia allowed herself to be nudged into sitting in front of Kira. “Fine. Like I said, Stiles is wrong. Mostly. We’re not split down the middle into two exact halves of human and non. That’s not how it works. I’m both a coyote and a human: right now, two seconds ago, two seconds from now. All the time. I’m both, and so are you. I might look human now, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a coyote in this instant. Got it?

“That’s where you’re messing up. You’ve spent your whole life believing that you are two separate things, but you’re not. You might prefer your human part, gods only know why why, but you’re still a fox.”

Kira took a moment to mull it over before nodding.

“Now, Stiles wasn’t totally wrong. He’s right about the anchor thing. I’ve never called it that, but it’s important to find a focus while shifting. It’s not to keep you human or whatever, but it’s just so you have something to concentrate on to help the transformation. You need Stiles’ power to help you through the shift, right? It’s not that you’re lacking the ability to do it, it’s just that you’re not used to directing your energy the right way. So, anyway, it’s good to pick something important to you, something that won’t abandon you. You’re gonna need this for the rest of your life. “

Slightly intimidated, Kira asked, “What’s yours?”

“This place.”

Kira blinked in surprise. “The forest?”

“It’s my home,” nodded Malia. “It’s where I feel safe, and I know it’s always going to be here.”

“But you’re barely ever here.” Kira scrunched up her eyebrows in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Malia shrugged. “Even so, this is the place that taught me control. It’s where I came after losing my family. It’s where I rebuilt my life. It’s my home.”

Kira reached for Malia’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “Will you ever tell me about your life before you came here?” She held her breath, worried she was crossing some unspoken boundary between them.

“Maybe.” Tipping her head, Malia gazed at her with liquid brown eyes. “Someday.” It almost sounded like a promise.

Kira smiled radiantly. Then she averted her eyes, embarrassed by how pleased she was by Malia’s trust. But Malia leaned forward, cupped her jaw, and sealed their lips together in a hard kiss. Nipping at Kira’s lips teasingly, Malia moved her mouth along Kira’s cheek and down her neck. Laving her tongue at the long tendon of her neck, Malia sucked a dark bruise on the tender skin as she tangled her hand in Kira’s hair. As Kira softly moaned, “Fuck, Malia,” and her scent grew heavy and sweet with arousal, Malia pulled away and cheekily smirked, “Now focus.”

Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and mouth slick and kiss-swollen, Kira was the epitome of debauched. She shot Malia a flat, unamused glare. Malia just laughed and affectionately pecked the corner of her mouth.

* * *

The first time Kira successfully managed to flick open her claws with a small _schnik_ , she flailed in surprised delight and nearly gouged Malia’s eye out. After apologizing profusely and about a dozen I’m-sorry-I-almost-blinded-you kisses later, Kira still had yet to figure out how to _un_ -schnik them.

“It’s progress,” Malia assured her, barely managing to stifle her giggles at how horrified Kira was about having ten tiny, razor sharp talons attached to her fingertips. They went to bed with Kira awkwardly holding her arms out so she didn’t accidentally scratch Malia during the night.

The next morning they were gone, and the process began anew.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Derek cocked his head, animalistic despite the fact he was walking on two legs, as he ventured into the glade. He’d spent the past week scouring the place where he had met Malia. But the heavy morning dew had all but washed away the scents the next day, leaving him unsatisfied and wet to boot. The following attempts hadn’t been successful either. He was, needless to say, a grumpy werewolf. But his own mild annoyance was instantly forgotten when he set eyes on the dryad.

Stiles didn’t respond, his back ramrod straight as he sat with his back against his willow’s trunk. His tree’s roots had rearranged themselves to leave the bare dirt circle Stiles was meditating in, wrapping protectively around the circumference of the dirt. His eyes were closed, palms facing the sky with his hands resting on his crossed legs. Derek’s nose twitched at the scent of new growth permeating the air, the smell of Stiles’ magic. If he squinted, he could even see Stiles’ veins glow lightly as his life force pumped throughout the forest.

Patiently, Derek shifted and padded toward Stiles on four paws. The tangle of roots slithered out of his way and Derek flicked his tail appreciatively. Stopping before Stiles’ unmoving form just outside of his circle, Derek flopped down and rested his head on his paws. He was prepared to wait. It had been a long morning and he was more than ready to take a nap.

His eyes were just beginning to flutter shut, the warm breeze making Derek drowsy, when Stiles moved at last. Lifting his head, the wolf watched Stiles’ back slump tiredly. He came out of his trance and rubbed his eyes.

Derek whined a little at the anxious flicker of Stiles’ pulse and the general air of unease emanating from him.

Stiles sighed heavily, his face grave. “There’s something coming, Derek,” he said softly, voice resigned and weary, “something bad.”

A low growl, coaxed out by the thought of anything coming to harm his forest, rumbled in Derek’s throat before he even registered what he was doing. Pushing himself up, the black wolf nosed reassuringly at Stiles neck. He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to cover up the stench of fearful apprehension leaking from the dryad or trying to offer comfort.

Stiles chuckled wryly, burying his fingers in Derek’s thick scruff. He took a deep breath that hitched slightly and pressed his cheek against the wolf’s head. “As much as I’m sure you’d love to tear out someone’s throat with your teeth, I don’t think even you will be able to do much against hunters.” He paused for a moment, breath ruffling Derek’s fur. “I’m sorry.”

In an instant, the midnight pelt melted away until a very human Derek clung almost desperately to Stiles. He cupped the dryad’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes locked, and their breaths mingled. “You protected me,” Derek said seriously, voice low, “now it’s my turn to protect you.” They were so close that Stiles could make out each individual fleck of blue and gold and grey speckling his green irises. “When will they be here?”

“Soon.” Stiles wrapped one hand around Derek’s wrist, the other falling to the werewolf’s naked hip. “Very soon.” The position was more intimate than he and Derek had ever been despite the wolf growing more comfortable and tactile each day. It had been a gradual process, getting Derek’s trust, so this abrupt show of vulnerability and blatant caring sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

Derek hated how Stiles’ amber eyes softened with sad fondness, like he was already contemplating his goodbyes, like he was already giving up.

Derek couldn’t have that.

Moving glacially, allowing Stiles all the time in the world to jerk away or say no, Derek leaned in until their lips brushed. One thumb stroking the dryad’s cheekbone and his knees bracketing Stiles’ hips, Derek didn’t open his eyes as he whispered, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” Stiles swallowed nervously. “Yeah, it is.”

Derek couldn’t have Stiles giving up because they both had too much to lose now.

* * *

A week and a half later, Kira shifted into a fox all on her own for the first time in her life. She barked in surprise as she realized that she was covered in orange fur and had four paws.

Malia circled her excitedly, tail wagging. Then she bounded off, barely remembering to look over her shoulder to make sure Kira kept up.

The two crashed noisily through the undergrowth, scaring up flocks of birds and bowling over a line of _kodama_ tree spirits. Kira winced apologetically, but pushed on to keep Malia in sight. The longer she ran, the more she got used to the flex of her muscles and the sensation of the forest litter beneath her pads. Her puffing breaths sucked in a thousand tantalizing scents, but she easily singled out the one she needed to follow and sped up to chase the coyote.

After passing a distinctively bent tree, Kira realized Malia was racing towards the river. She twisted her ears to hear Malia and make sure she wasn’t changing course. Confident, Kira dug her paws into the dirt and propelled herself off Malia’s course. If she timed it just right, she should be able to—

Kira burst through the brush clear to the top of the ridge just as Malia cut around the bend. Malia’s eyes widened for a second as she spotted Kira, but it was too late. With a yelp, Kira launched herself off raised bank right into Malia. The two of them went rolling through the soft grass, one last vestige of the fading summer, until they stopped just beside the river.

Winded, the two lay their panting for a while, tongues lolling and tails wagging. A brisk breeze ruffled their fur. Malia rolled over to press nose affectionately at Kira’s neck. Kira wondered if life ever got better than this.

Neither noticed the dark clouds on the horizon.


	9. Love's a Fragile Little Flame (It Could Burn Out)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys face their worst nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fav chapter alert! To be fair, this is tied as fav w/the equinox festival, but if I had to choose it would probably be this one. This is pretty intense, so spoiler warnings at the end notes if you're worried. Stay safe and enjoy. As always, thanks to everyone who left feedback!

They came in the night on sure and silent feet. A crepitating orange light led the way. The moon sat darkly in the quiet sky. Her gentle luminescence wasn’t enough to cause the cold metal guns in their hands to glint in warning.

Their leader paused at the southern outskirts of the great forest, kneeling on the ground to examine a faint, months-old stain of wolf’s blood. Her lips twisted in a cruel grin as telltale pawprints led their way into the woods.

“He’s here,” Kate Argent said, standing once more. Her shadow, outlined by flickering torches, stretched out greedily. “Burn it to the ground. We’ve killed werewolves once with fire, and we can do it again. Capture anything worthwhile. I hear there’s a coyote and a few foxes running around here. Their pelts will fetch a good price.”

Her silhouette contorted and danced maliciously as the hunters straightened their backs and marched in. Their thick boots crunched loudly in the brittle foliage. The metal chains of their traps and cages clinked a death knell. On the eve of winter, the woods were bone dry—a bonfire ready to burn with a single spark.

* * *

“Malia?” Kira blearily stirred, rubbing her eyes. She squinted into the darkness, blinking away sleep.

The coyote, already on her feet, bristled. She stared hard into the dark trees, flexed her claws, and honed in on the steady thump of a foreign heartbeat. The sharp scent of gun oil had her eyes blazing blue. She growled out, “Something’s coming.”

“What are you—”

A deafening bang interrupted Kira’s muddled question and sent Malia reeling back with a pained yelp. Kira scrambled to her feet with a shout.

Clutching her bleeding shoulder, Malia threw herself in front Kira. Once she realized a second shot wasn’t coming right away, Malia grabbed Kira’s arm to yank her away. Staggering behind a tree, Malia pressed her back to the trunk and tried to catch her breath. Ignoring the way her wound twinged at the movement, she protectively wrapped her arms around Kira. She exhaled with relief when she confirmed Kira remained unharmed. Malia clutched Kira closely, heartbeat hammering and adrenaline pumping. She took a calming breath in the ensuing silence before leaning back.

When Kira shot her a confused look, Malia firmly shook her head. _Quiet._ She strained her senses to relocate the threat. She almost regretted losing sight of the target, turning the whole thing into a lethal game of hide and seek, but she couldn’t bring herself to be sorry about prioritizing Kira’s safety.

Kira’s trembling fingers squeezed Malia’s uninjured arm. Malia nudged her back in silent reassurance. Then her ears pricked up.

The man stomped through the forest to where the two girls had been sleeping. He stooped down to examine the bloodstain on the ground, heavy gun limp at his side, and Malia launched herself at him. With a blood-curdling snarl and a neat swipe of her claws, the man keeled over with a thud. Warm blood surged from his gurgling, slit throat to soak into the ground.

“We need to leave,” Malia said, standing and not seeming to notice the scarlet stains smeared onto her bare skin. She turned to Kira. “Now. It isn’t safe.”

“I can’t.” Kira’s face twisted, conflicted. She was already itching to tear through the forest to ensure the safety of her family. “I need to find Stiles. Something’s happening. Who was that man?” She couldn’t bear to look at the body and kept her gaze focused on Malia’s face.

Malia grimaced. “A hunter.”

“Are there more?”

Malia paused to listen, but shook her head. “Not near us. But hunters don’t usually work solo.”

“What will you do?” Kira knew it was too much to ask Malia to come with her, but she was almost afraid of the answer. She couldn’t help but remember what Malia had said about being alone making it easier to run when necessary. This seemed like a necessary time. “Will you leave?” She gulped nervously. “You can. I won’t be mad. It’s safer if you get out of here while you can.”

“Not without you,” Malia replied firmly. She stepped closer to wrap her arms around Kira’s neck and kiss her cheek. “I won’t leave you. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” whispered Kira fiercely, hugging back tightly. The relief that settled in her stomach was short-lived. “But I need to go help Stiles. Will you be okay?” She felt like she was being torn in two—one half of her desperate to make sure Stiles was okay, the other half terrified of being separated from Malia in case this was their last goodbye.

Both of them knew that hunters brought death.

Neither said it aloud.

Sucking in Kira’s warm scent one last time, Malia murmured, “Come find me when everything is over. This is not my war, and I don’t want a part in it. But if you need me, come find me.”

“Thank you.” Kira knew what it meant that Malia was offering up her allegiance. If it weren’t for Kira, the coyote would’ve vanished the instant the hunter had arrived. Some called them cowards, but Kira liked to call it strategic and pragmatic. Malia had just laughed and said she didn’t give two damns if others called her kind cowardly. If she was honest, Kira had always envied the kind of courage and confidence that Malia seemed to wear so effortlessly.

But that meant the only thing tying Malia to this place was her. That meant that if Malia died, it would be on Kira’s conscience. She swallowed down that bitter pill, mouth suddenly dry.

And then their lips crashed together, hard enough to bruise. It was like Malia thought if she poured everything into this kiss—all the words their new relationship didn’t have time for yet—it would hurt less to part.

It didn’t.

* * *

Stiles woke up screaming. Lightning lanced through his body, sending every nerve alight with pain. Derek wrapped his arms around the thrashing dryad as best he could, whispered platitudes falling on ears deafened by sheer agony. It took all his strength to keep Stiles still to keep him from hurting himself.

At last, Stiles was too exhausted to writhe any longer. He went limp in Derek’s grasp except for the occasional involuntary shockwave.

“Stiles?” Derek was frantic, hovering over the motionless body. “Stiles!”

The willow seemed to creak and groan in warning.

“They’re here,” rasped Stiles, his skin pallid and his eyes dulling with pain. His throat scraped dryly just to choke that much out. A few tears squeezed out of the corners of Stiles’ eyes to drip onto the ground.

Even as the words left Stiles’ lips, Derek’s head shot up. The unmistakable scent of smoke filled his nostrils. Except this time, it wasn’t a panicky hallucination or a nightmare Stiles would wake him up from.

No, this time it was real.

Unadulterated anger swelled in Derek. It drowned out even his swelling fear and the roaring in his veins. He shoved down the urge to shift and destroy the people, the monsters, who were hurting his dryad and his home. In spite of his wolf’s eager bloodlust, Derek was more desperate to get Stiles to safety first.

“Scott,” realized Derek aloud as the foreboding crackle in his ears crescendoed. “The river.”

“Scott’s gone,” croaked Stiles, letting out another groan of pain. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead. “He must be, otherwise he would’ve warned us. They must’ve taken him.”

“Then the village,” Derek insisted, bending down to scoop Stiles up. The dirt felt unnaturally warm under his feet. “Allison and Liam and the others are there.”

He cradled Stiles carefully in his arms, but as he made to stand, Stiles shouted out in terror. “No! I can’t leave, Derek. This is my home.” He flailed blindly against Derek’s grip.

“You’re going to die if you stay,” growled Derek, tightening his hold. His chest twisted awfully at that realization, as though saying it aloud made it so much more terrifying and real. It was suddenly hard to breathe in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke starting to filter through the foliage. “You might be okay with that, but I’m not.”

A weak smile tugged at Stiles chapped lips. A sheen of sweat brightened his wan skin. “I knew you cared, deep down inside.” Already his eyes were growing hazy. His forest continued to burn all around them.

“Of course I care, idiot.” Derek pressed their foreheads together, ignoring how febrile Stiles’ skin felt. Stiles’ arms automatically wrapped around his neck, and Derek’s eyes fluttered closed as true fear clenched his heart. He couldn’t lose everything he loved, not again. Even if Derek couldn’t quite remember when this stupid forest spirit started sprawling out against his flank every night; even if Derek could barely understand the ancient magic that ran through Stiles’ veins or his conniving, knife-sharp mind; Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to survive being surrounded by ashes for a second time.

Then Stiles tensed in his arms. The hissing sound of the fire grew louder in Derek’s ears. “I can feel them, Derek,” Stiles whispered weakly, trembling as he heaved shallow breaths. “I can feel every single one of my people dying: the birds, the mice, the trees. How can I leave knowing I’ve left them to die alone? I’m the only home they’ve ever known, how could I abandon them?” Tears rolled down his cheeks in earnest as his voice hiccuped.

It was then that Derek remembered that Stiles, although nearly two centuries old, was a mere teenager as far as dryad ages were concerned.

“You can’t.” Derek’s voice was defeated as he finally saw through Stiles’ eyes. Trying to take Stiles away would be like if Derek had chosen to run when his own family was being burned alive.

“Go find Scott,” Stiles advised, gently pushing away one of Derek’s arms that was supporting him. “Wherever he is, you’ll need his help. I’ll wait here.”

“I can’t just leave you by yourself,” Derek argued weakly from where he was kneeling beside Stiles. He pursed his lips in dismay at how feverishly warm the dryad’s skin felt. Although it was nothing compared to how swelteringly hot the air was becoming the longer they stayed and argued.

“I’ll be fine.” Stiles leaned up to jerkily sealed their mouths together, his lips too dry and chapped. He cradled the back of Derek’s neck with one hand and let the other rest on his chest. Then, before Derek could do much more than blink in surprise, he pressed his nose briefly to Derek’s neck, the movement so wolflike that Derek couldn’t help but whine low in his throat. “I know you’ll come back to me.”

* * *

It took all of Derek’s strength to rip himself from Stiles side even though he knew that staying would do nothing but get them both killed. But he soon realized that maybe he should have saved some. Running through a forest while it was on fire to reach the river on the far side was easier said than done.

The smoky air felt like breathing in a thousand white hot needles. The ground was hot enough to burn his tender human feet. Shifting onto four thickly padded paws somewhat improved the situation, but they still went numb after a few minutes of charging through the stifling vegetation. The small bits of flaming leaves and debris falling down and singing his fur didn’t help. They obscured his vision while he struggled to find a way through the sooty labyrinth that Stiles’ woods had become.

The fire dulled most of his senses to a dangerous degree. He nearly crashed headlong into a hunter. He managed to swerve at the last second when the dark figure abruptly manifested through the smog. As much as he would’ve like to stop and tear out the man’s throat, Derek knew better. Stiles came before anything else. Still, Derek tried his best to forget the pitiful whimpers that had been coming from the cage the hunter carried.

Bursting through the border of the forest made Derek think of surfacing from water after holding his breath until he felt like his head was about to explode. Desperately sucking in lungful after lungful of fumeless, clean air felt heavenly. Derek shedded his fur as fast as he could; the heat had been bad enough with human skin, let alone a wolf’s thick coat.

Falling to his knees, Derek gave himself a good thirty seconds or so to inhale enough oxygen to chase away the black spots in his vision. Then Derek lifted his head. He blinked to adjust to the darkness after blundering through the painfully red woods. His chest still burned like a motherfucker, but at least he could see somewhat.

“Took you long enough.”

Derek’s blood froze at that voice, soft and teasing with a deceptively sweet lilt. It was the voice that whispered saccharine platitudes and gruesome threats in every one of his nightmares. It had purred in his ear when he had been just a naive pup. It instinctively sent shame roiling Derek’s gut. His stomach clenched as he met Kate’s gleeful eyes.

“What,” Kate smirked, flashing a predatory grin, “cat got your tongue?” She looked just as he remembered, all bronze skin and light hair now tinted orange by the fiery mess behind Derek. The two stood on the river bank closest to the forest. Only a twenty foot clearing separated them. “What a shame. I remember a lot of things that tongue is good for,” she leered.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. Utter fury overwhelmed his paralyzing humiliation. Sliding back into his fur, Derek curled his lip to bare gleaming fangs. He flattened his ears against his head.

Kate just laughed. “C’mon,” she said softly, watching the bristling wolf tense his muscles. “C’mon!”

Launching himself forward, Derek sprinted toward her. He feinted at her chest, darting beneath the hunter’s stun baton she slashed at him. Dancing back out of reach, he eyed her weapon of choice. _900,00 volts,_ he remembered her saying the first time she’d ever used it on him. Although it wasn’t a gun or crossbow, it still had a longer reach than his claws. He circled her warily.

“Remember this bad boy?” she grinned, turning her head to keep him in sight as he prowled with raised hackles. “I bet you do. Being immobilized for five minutes isn’t something even a beast would forget too soon.” The taser snapped and crackled as blue electricity pranced and sizzled along its length. She jabbed at him again. Derek sidestepped before springing for her exposed throat.

All at once, white hot pain burst from his shoulder and knocked him sideways with a frantic yelp. Winded from his fall, Derek had a split second to see the arrow embedded in his flesh before Kate pounced. And then he didn’t even have enough breath in his lungs to howl when lightning lit up his blood. His vision went dark for a few heart-stopping moments.

Eyes weakly flickering open, his limbs felt heavy as lead. Everything ached. As the blackness clouding his sight receded gradually, Derek couldn’t help a soft yip of pain as Kate experimentally kicked him with a steel-toed boot.

“Bet you didn’t expect that, huh?” She kneeled down beside him, a feral grin twisting her mouth. “My niece’s shot is almost as good as mine. Isn’t that right, Allison?”

Derek jerked at the name, craning his neck to catch sight of the young girl striding purposefully toward them with a deadly-looking crossbow in her hand. A quiver of arrows was strapped to her back.

 _No way_ , he thought groggily. _No fucking way_. He had never met Allison, only heard of her in passing from Scott and Stiles. When the former had proceeded to wax poetic about the way her hair cascaded like a chestnut waterfall over her shoulders, Derek had tended to tune out him and his horrible-but-well-meant sonnets. It had kept him well rested for nights when Stiles didn’t allow him to catch a wink of sleep.

But Derek vaguely remembered hearing something about Allison knowing archery. It had sent a jolt of fear through him at the thought of Kate. After all, archery wasn’t exactly a common hobby. Stiles had absently rubbed behind his ear and cast him a worried glance at his sudden tension. But Derek had just shaken his head like a fool and burrowed closer into the dryad’s side That had been the end of that.

Now, though, Allison fit every description Scott had ever given of her. And he had given a lot. From her dark hair to her fair skin and soft lips, now pulled into a focused frown, Allison Argent seemed to be a cold huntress through and through.

But there were small things that drew Derek’s attention: the uncertainty flickering in her expression, the white-knuckled grip on her bow. She wasn’t her aunt, Derek could see that much, and was probably just as dopily in love with Scott as he was with her. But that didn’t help the growing hate he felt bubbling up inside him for her and her family.

“Aunt Kate,” she demanded coldly, the venomous tone taking Derek by surprise, “what are you doing? Why are they setting the forest on fire? What about the animals that live there?”

Groaning as his bones creaked and scraped, he shuddered through his shift. His eyes flashed brilliant blue in the dark. His flesh struggled to knit itself together around the arrow shaft still protruding from his shoulder.

Utilizing his new opposable thumbs, Derek ripped the arrow from his shoulder. He winced as the barbed metal tore at his skin. Scrutinizing it, he wasn’t sure if the dark liquid sluggishly oozing from it was black from wolfsbane or simply a dark from the poor lighting. Then a wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin.

Wolfsbane it was.

Slumping and panting in the dirt, Derek ground out, “Isn’t it obvious, human? She means to kill us all, just like your kind has always done. Congratulations on fulfilling your family’s legacy. Does it feel good to murder the very forest spirit that your village depends on?”

Allison stiffened and stopped walking. She glanced at her aunt suspiciously. “Kate, you said we were just hunting wolves, the wolf that… that killed Mom.” Voice wavering, she swallowed past the lump in her throat. She tried to channel her feeling of betrayal to keep the anguish at bay. “You never said anything about forest sprites.”

“Oh, honey,” Kate smirked. “They’re all the same. Naiads, dryads, wolves, they’re all just mindless creatures. They’d kill you if given half the chance. That’s why we strike first.”

Derek growled lowly at that despite the fact that his vision was spinning. He could barely make the two hunters out anymore. His injured shoulder was slowly dulling into a low, simmering fire that dribbled down his arm and chest.

“We have a pact with the dryad here.” Allison narrowed her eyes, anger seething low in her voice. “Dad promised protection in return for his resources. _This_ **—** ” she waved an arm at the raging inferno eating away at the trees and sending sparks spilling into the sky “—is not what Dad agreed to when he allowed you and your hunters to come here.”

Through the haze clouding his thoughts, Derek idly wondered if it was bad that he could barely feel his shoulder or upper arm anymore. He was no doctor, but even he was fairly certain that it wasn’t good that his chest felt like it would burst every time it rose and fell with his labored breaths.

“You act like your own mother wasn’t murdered by these beasts,” Kate hissed icily. “Why are you defending them when they’ve caused you nothing but suffering? Where’s your familial loyalty?” She lashed out once more, lightning-filled taser crackling as it whipped through the air. Derek’s eyes flinched shut, preparing for the sizzling pain.

It never came.

As Kate’s blow arced through the air, Allison suddenly swung her bow and knocked the taser away. Caught by surprise, Kate’s grip broke. The weapon went skittering away on the ground.

Casting a sidelong glance at her niece, Kate rubbed her stinging hand.“Allison?”

“This isn’t right,” said Allison firmly. She positioned herself between Kate and Derek, who felt a sudden surge of respect for the young huntress as she trustingly showed him her vulnerable back to face her aunt. “This isn’t what we condoned. The spirits here has been nothing but good to us and the locals of Beacon Hills.” She tightened her grip on her bow. “This isn’t part of the code.”

“This is _exactly_ the code,” retorted Kate, drawing a long knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh. “We hunt those who hunt us. That beast murdered Victoria. Now balance the scales; kill it.”

Recognizing his danger, Derek scrambled awkwardly to his feet. He staggered drunken-like, clutching his injured arm, and feebly bared his teeth at Allison in warning. Squinting through his blurring vision, Derek couldn’t help but fall to his knees. He let out a low groan as his entire body began to pulse with agony.

“Then maybe we need a new code,” Allison murmured softly as her eyes drifted over Derek’s haggard form.

The firelight glinted off the steel blade clutched in Kate’s hand. Derek’s eyes widened as he saw her advance toward Allison’s turned back. Without enough air in his lungs to shout a warning, Derek lurched forward. Slipping into his wolf’s skin in one fluid motion, he couldn’t remember anything quite as satisfying as the soft squelch of his jaws crushing Kate’s windpipe. He curled his lip in satisfaction as she collapsed, cruel eyes dull and lifeless. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground.

Then he heard a slight gasp.

After that, it didn’t take long after that for his own legs to buckle. His muzzle hit the ground with a thud, but Derek hardly felt a thing. Everything just kind of turned into this heavy darkness, although definitely with an undercurrent of pain. But even that seemed distant and faraway. His eyelids fluttered helplessly.

Derek thought he might’ve felt a soft pair of hands rolling him onto his unhurt side and probing at his wound. He might have imagined the puddle of black goo that he lay in. He could be hallucinating the lurid glimmer of blue smoke in the corner of his vision. And Derek was almost certain that the whispered, “Thank you,” in his ear was just his oxygen-deprived brain talking.

But the fire that erupted in his shoulder was as real as the ground underneath him. The burned wolfsbane, for that was clearly was Allison had been doing, frizzled and spit like acid as she pressed it to his wound. Derek did his best not to flail and accidentally hurt her as he sank completely into blackness.

* * *

Stiles wasn’t sure what was worse: the unbearable heat licking at his corporeal body or the phantom agony of his entire forest burning down around him. He knew forcing Derek to leave his side had been for the best, but that didn’t make the ache any less fierce while watching his wolf barrel off into the smoke. It didn’t stop the boiling hot tears from streaming down his face as Stiles struggled just to breathe.

Of course, he’d heard the stories about how awful human beings were, how they had cut down entire forests without batting an eye. They were the bane of most nature spirits, but Stiles always had trouble taking such tales seriously when his own locals were such a contradiction. Chris and his family always respected him and Scott. They brought offerings on solstices and said solemn prayers each time a hunter brought down a mighty stag or took axe to a thick oak. They always took just enough for their village to live comfortably. They did their best to give back when they could. Stiles had never truly appreciated this harmonious, mutualistic relationship until now when his skin burned and his creatures screamed out for him in their pain.

Stiles weakly sat up, head spinning from just that simple motion. Instinctively, he reached for his magic. He was dismayed if not surprised to find it nothing more than a dry trickle, hardly enough to summon a sprout. He blinked back stinging tears, half from the realization of how powerless he was and half from the smoke. Soon, the ferns a few feet away began to blacken and die. Stiles realized he couldn’t stay here.

He shakily staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on the nearest tree trunk. Stiles resolutely ignored how the bark scalded his delicate human skin. He faltered on the first step, crashing to his knees as a hacking cough wracked his form. It felt overwhelming, not being able to breathe while his own body turned on him. Stiles couldn’t help but morbidly wonder if maybe he wouldn’t make it after all.

Failure had never seemed so real until now, all alone surrounded by death.

But then a sharp bark sounded over the rising hum of fire. A familiar muzzle nudged at his face to lick away the sweat and soot. “Kira?” croaked Stiles, barely able to hear himself. Yet there she stood, orange fur matted and marred with ash. One ear was badly singed. She barked again, pressing a firm shoulder against his side for support.

At the same time, the ancient birch that Stiles had been steadying himself with gave an almighty groan. It swayed as though in a great wind. Its branches curved down of their own accord until they were at Stiles’ level, offering him a handhold to haul himself back to his feet. All around the two of them, the dying trees shuddered and shifted. They gradually created a sheltered tunnel through the least burned parts of the woods. Scarlet flecked leaves swirled like volcanic confetti.

The tears fell harder as Stiles gazed up at his forest, at his home and heart. He had raised each and every plant here from sapling and seed. He had given his life and magic to create and protect it; and now, it was giving all that life back.

“Thank you.” He grabbed hold of one branch, stripped bare by the flames. “Thank you.” Stiles took a wobbly step, resting heavily on Kira. Slowly, they limped down the path the woods had provided. “Thank you.”

It was hard going when the hot ground seared their feet. Stiles was too enervated to manage much more a limping gait. But eventually the dirt faded into a refreshing coolness that belied the fiery horrors all around them. The forest yet to be touched by the fire made Stiles’ heart ache a little less.

Finally, the tunnel of bowing trees opened up into a new glade. Comforting moonlight bathed the grass. The soft silver attempted to wash away the night’s cherry cinders. But ash still fell like snow, coloring the central pond grey.

“Rest,” Kira said softly, leading Stiles to a nest of moss beside the bank. “Heal.” He couldn’t recall when she’d shifted, but was too exhausted to care.

“Where’s Malia?”

Kira’s heart clenched painfully at the rasped question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling so lost and confused. The droning crackle of the fire filled the quiet before she continued, “Hopefully somewhere safe. Does that make me a bad person if I came to you instead of staying with her?”

“Of course not.” Stiles’ shaking hand gripped hers, squeezing softly. “No one ever said being in love was easy.”

“Love?” echoed Kira, and then it clicked. “Oh my gods, I’m in love with Malia.” Despite the eye-watering smoke slowly staining the sky a sickly grey and the sweltering heat making her sweat buckets, Kira found her heart fluttering with something beautiful and light.

“Took you long enough.” Stiles said weakly, unable to help the quirk of his own lips at the utterly dumbstruck and dopey look on Kira’s face. She was so far gone. “Now go be her knight in shining armor and save us all.”

“I’ll be back,” Kira promised, clutching Stiles closely in a fierce hug.

“Be careful.” He blearily reached out for her as she deposited him on a soft bed of moss lined painstakingly with feathers that tickled his nose. “Get Scott.” A yawn distorted his words. “Put out the fire.” His eyelids drooped dangerously, voice growing softer. Everything was starting to blur as the pain faded to dark. “Find Derek.”

“I’ll try,” came the whispered reply.

* * *

Scott was officially confused. Although, if Stiles was here, he’d probably snarkily ask what else was new.

But anyways, the naiad had been rudely kidnapped during the night by humans dragging him away from his river, his power source. He knew his locals fairly well, so Scott had immediately realized that these people didn’t belong to him. No, they were new and living up to every awful story about mortals that Scott had ever heard and dismissed as a product of his best friend’s overactive imagination. Now, though, as Scott blearily blinked awake and found himself tied to a tree, he wasn’t so sure about human morality.

Also, could he just say that polluting the river to lure him out was a low blow? Did they even know how many ecosystems they’d fucked up in the process? How many years it would take to restore the careful equilibrium? How dare they write off the death of dozens of his fish as collateral damage. Talk about _rude_. And then humans had the audacity to wonder why the hell almost every supernatural creature wanted them dead.

Except for Allison. It was impossible for _anyone_ to hate Allison.

But then, a few fruitless hours of straining against the ropes to escape later, Scott’s drooping eyelids—hey, his beauty sleep had been interrupted; don’t judge—jerked open. A soft rustling sounded behind him.  Being best friends with Stiles for so many decades had taught Scott a thing or two, so he tensed and dreaded the worst. He felt vulnerable and helpless. He clenched and unclenched empty fists. His magic itched for some water to work with. His chafed wrists gave a painful twinge as he shifted nervously.

Then a familiar voice called out, “Scott?”

“Mr. Argent?” Scott strained his neck to peer over his shoulder, squinting in the dark. Sure enough, there was the father of the love of his life. Chris was silhouetted in starlight and circled around his tree. Chris’ face was pale, stricken-looking like someone had just died. “What’s happening? Why are you here? Why did a bunch of people tie me up? Is this a trick?” Scott narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the hunter as he eyed the glock in Chris’ hands.

Chris just frowned harder. “No, Scott. This is me trying to fix a horrible mistake I’ve made.”

He pulled a small knife from his back pocket, which had Scott letting out a yelp. “Wait, no! Mr. Argent, I swear I didn’t have sex with Allison. We’re waiting for marriage. Oh my gods, we’ll wait for-freaking-ever just please don’t kill me and/or cut off my dick! Allison will never forgive you!”

Chris gave him a look that could curdle milk. “Never mention my daughter and sex in the same sentence again or next time I might just take you up on that offer.” In one swift move, he had the ropes falling uselessly to the ground. “But for now, we have more important things.”

“What do you mean?” Scott cocked his head in the way that Stiles swore made him look like a bemused puppy. He winced and rubbed his sore wrists.

Christ took a deep breath like he was steeling himself. But then he curtly replied, “Walk with me,” in lieu of an answer. He turned to stride away. Scott obediently followed, nearly tripping in his haste. Who knew being tied to a tree for several hours could make your legs numb and feel like jelly? “We don’t have time to waste.”

The naiad took a moment to rub the life back into his legs, deciding face planting in front of his girlfriend’s father probably wasn’t the best impression he wanted to make.

“Coming?” Chris asked impatiently. Scott hurried to catch up, thighs only slightly tingling now. He easily wove between the sparse trees. The land between Stiles’ forest and the human village was mostly treeless rolling hills and meadows dotted with pines. After cresting a small ridge, Scott could even see his river glimmering off in the distance.

This proximity surprised Scott, who had been expecting to be at least a couple days’ travel away by now. But it also gave the distinct impression that whoever had caught him didn’t feel the need for stealth. It meant that whatever the bad guys were up to, they were confident that it would be swift enough that it didn’t matter if Scott was rescued. Or, it meant that whatever nefarious plan they were cooking up was irreversible. Maybe once it had started, there was nothing to be done. That thought sent an ominous shiver down his spine.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s up?” he asked as Chris started down the hillock. “I never see you with your gun.”

“A few days ago, my sister came to pay a visit,” Chris began. “She and my wife had gone on a hunting trip over in her neck of the woods about a week ago. And—” here he clenched his teeth “—Victoria didn’t make it.”

“I…I’m so sorry, Mr. Argent,” Scott said quietly. “I had no idea. I don’t know what to say.” Well that explained why Allison hadn’t come by recently. Her mom had just died and the family was probably in mourning.

“Kate, my sister, came here a couple days ago to tell me the news. She brought some of her own hunters with her as well, saying she was tracking the wolf that did it.”

“Wolf?” Scott’s mind instantly flashed to Derek.

“Wolf,” Chris confirmed grimly. “Said she swore it was hiding in the forest.”

They continued to briskly make their way to the river. Scott’s magic flickered excitedly, but he frowned. “But that’s impossible if Mrs. Argent died a week ago. Derek’s been here for over 3 months; he can’t have killed her. He can’t be the one she’s looking for.”

“You think I don’t know that?” snapped Chris. He stopped walking, lowered his head, and muttered, “I… I was blinded by my grief. I wasn’t in the right mindset. I gave her free reign to find and kill the beast. I assumed it was a fresh hunt, but now I’m thinking she’s been after this wolf for a long while. Victoria was just the excuse she needed so I didn’t watch her as closely as I probably should have given her history.”

An acrid smell tickled Scott’s nose as they got moving again, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Her history?”

“Ever since we were kids, she was always the more reckless of us. Dad favored her, the older and more gifted child and bragged about how she was going to uphold the family legacy. She’s probably brought down more supers than all of my hunters combined.” Chris’ face hardened. “It was one of the reasons that I decided to leave home and come here, where I met Victoria and started my own family.”

Scott tried to listen with rapt attention, genuinely interested in the Chris’ past. But the faint buzzing his ears made it difficult. His magic was restless, shifting and twisting anxiously.

“Initially, I wasn’t going to go with her on the hunt tonight,” Chris continued. “I was going to just let Allison go. She… she took Victoria’s passing pretty hard.” He pursed his lips. “But at the last minute, I decided to head out late after Kate and everyone else had already left. And I found this.” He took his hand out of his pocket and in his palm was a small piece of plastic.

“A cap?” Scott scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. Chris was presenting him the pieces, but he couldn’t put the puzzle together. “Uh…”

The hunter nodded gravely. “It reeks of accelerant. I’m worried that Kate is planning to—”

Scott never found out what Chris guessed his sister was up to because he saw her scheme unfold for himself. In a single _whoosh_ , sickly orange flames erupted among the trees. The fire licked at the brittle, autumn-dry bark and tore through the undergrowth at an unnatural rate.

“We’re too late!” shouted Scott. He took off at a run.

His magic buzzed angrily at the sight of Stiles’ forest ablaze, sending ominous shadows dancing across the ground. “Stiles!” he yelled. Each step brought him closer to his river, which separated him and the forest. His power thrummed in response to the water. The river exploded, flooding the banks. The waves raced toward the fire, hissing and spitting as it battled against the intense heat.

With most of the water being used to fight the fire, he splashed across the now shallow stream to the bank on the same side as the forest.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep up the powerful current all night, Scott reeled back the water to create a sort of pseudo-tide. A natural rhythm built up, gradually extinguishing the fire, but the accelerant slowed the process. And the damage was already done. Scott swept his devastated gaze over the charred, dead trees left in the wake of his too-late attempt to help. He tried not to think of how he would save heart of Stiles’ forest where his river couldn’t reach.

“Dad!”

“Allison?”

Scott whirled around just in time to see Chris sprinting across the muddy expanse of what was left of the river. Muttering encouragement to his stream to keep going, Scott followed. He managed to trip a total of four times as he stumbled toward the hunters. Turned out huge forest fires weren’t the best source of lighting ever.

“Allison?” he called out, wiping at his watering eyes. The smoke was unbearable, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him from the spike of fear at the thought of Allison in the midst of all this.

“Aunt Kate did it, Dad,” Allison was saying as Scott got near enough to hear. “She admitted everything. She said it was all part of the code, that she was avenging Mom. She called Derek a monster and told me to kill him.” She did her best not to cry, but her voice wobbled dangerously. Her eyes drifted to the lifeless body of her aunt before quickly averting. Her pants were soaked where the current had pushed past her to get to the forest. For a moment the water bled pink before it was washed away. One hand was twisted in the damp fur of the unconscious wolf beside her. Its head was pillowed in her lap to keep it above the churning water.

“Did it hurt you?” demanded Chris, yanking Allison away from the limp form. There was a small splash as its muzzle hit the surface of the water swirling around them. He glared at it suspiciously before patting her down, checking for injuries.

“No,” she shook her head, vehemently pulling away. “No, Dad, stop! We need to help him. He’s _dying_.” She knelt down again, hauling the wolf up as best she could so he could breathe. Then, “Scott?”

“What are you doing here?” Scott demanded, pulling her into a hug as best he could while she was cradling a couple hundred pound wolf in her arms. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Honestly, I’m fine,” Allison briefly pressed their lips together in reassurance, deciding she didn’t give a damn if her dad was right behind them. She needed the reaffirmation just as much as Scott did. “I was hunting with Aunt Kate, but that’s not important. You need to look at Derek right now.”

With an easy flick of his wrist, the river parted around the four of them as though invisible rocks blocked the eddies gurgling past them. Scott dropped to his knees on the damp ground beside Allison. He reached out to press a hand to Derek’s damp fur. But then he checked himself when he remembered how Derek had only liked Stiles to touch his pelt. It seemed like too intimate a thing to do while the wolf was out cold. Deciding against it, Scott turned to Allison. “What happened?”

But before she could open her mouth to reply, Scott whipped around to stare wide-eyed at the woods. “Kira?” Similarly to how Stiles was innately tied to his home tree, could feel everything that happened in his forest, Scott was connected to his creek. He could sense the pull of the tide in his bones. And so he felt when his river gave him a little tap in his subconscious to alert him that it had found something. The soft whisper of the current changed, imperceptible to any but a naiad’s ears.

 _Lead her here,_ Scott murmured back in that gentle, inhuman tongue that only rivers and their spirits could understand or speak.

“What happened?” he prompted Allison again.

Turning his attention back to Derek, Scott reached out to the frothing water surrounding them. A small, serpentine stream of it separated from the main current to settle in the palms of his hands. It started to glow faintly with the naiad’s magic when he brought his cupped hands to his mouth. He breathed on it, quietly intoning blessed words to give it healing properties.

Humans were always so quick to look to fire for destruction and pain. They often forgot that water could mend and cure.

“I found Kate and Derek here on the outskirts of the forest. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he attacked her, so I shot him.”

Scott inspected the wound Allison gestured to. The muscle looked torn, which he grimaced at. “Wolfsbane?”

She nodded, looking sheepish. Scott rolled his eyes. Of course it was. “You hunters never do anything halfway, do you? So then what?”

“I had just found out Kate had set the forest on fire, the far side to the west. It hadn’t quite reached all the way over here yet. That was why I’d been looking for her because I joined this hunt to kill the wolf that took my mother away from me, not to destroy the whole forest.”

“Yeah, well clearly Kate didn’t get that message,” Scott muttered darkly. “Did you burn out the wolfsbane already?”

Allison nodded again, eyes wide at Scott’s glowing hands. Even Chris, keeping his distance, couldn’t help a shiver in the presence of such magic. Scott dripped the hallowed water onto Derek’s wounds, willing the wolf’s life force to rest and recover. When the last of it had trickled and gone, Scott stood and said, “He’ll live. Just get him somewhere safe to sleep for a few days.”

“I’ll take him,” Chris said, venturing closer.

“No,” Scott replied firmly. “Both of you will. Get him out of here and don’t come back.” His eyes grew cold and a frown tugged at his mouth. “Kira and I will take care of the rest.”

“There are many of them,” warned Chris seriously. “Kate brought her entire entourage.” His daughter simply gave Scott a sad and understanding look.

Scott smirked crookedly. “Give humans a few decades of peace and they suddenly think you can’t take care of yourself. Besides, if you think that Stiles will allow any of these hunters to make it out alive, you’ve got another thing coming. Take her too.” The naiad gestured to the bloody carcass of Kate. Disdain contorted his features.

“Be careful.” Allison threw her arms around Scott and held on like she didn’t know if she would see him again.

He swallowed hard and clung back just as fiercely. She pressed her face into his neck and he kissed the crown of her head. “I will.”

Chris watched the exchange with an unreadable expression on his face. Scott hoped it was his _how will only Allison and I manage to carry a 200-odd pound wolf and adult body between the two of us?_  face and not his _I’m going to murder a river nymph in about two seconds_  face. Then he looked the naiad in the eye and firmly said, “I’m sorry. For everything. I only hope that after all of this, the spirits will show my people mercy.”

Scott’s gaze flicked between him and his daughter, genuinely distraught at the idea of losing either of them. But he said nothing. He made no empty promises about how Stiles would readily forgive them and everything would go back to normal. He didn’t dare speak of what would happen to his and Allison’s relationship. Instead, he simply stepped back from Allison and parted his water so they could leave.

Kira was silhouetted against the firelight, an ashy smudge of orange and black. Scott trudged wearily toward her. “Hey,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug. He decided not to even try and wipe off the soot smeared messily on her skin. He knew soon he’d be just as bad.

“Have you seen Malia?” Kira’s eyes were desperate as she searched his face.

Scott apologetically shook his head. “Maybe we’ll find her in there,” he suggested, nodding at the burning brush Kira had just emerged from.

Instead of humoring Scott’s inherent optimism, Kira shifted and shook out her fox fur. The thick pads on her feet would protect them more than delicate human soles. Then she shoved down her disappointment and savagely berated her high hopes. Malia was probably long gone. Her natural self-preservation instincts had always been overwhelming. Kira wouldn’t blame her for running despite promising not to.

“Let’s go.”

Kira nodded and plunged into the flaming foliage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek has a pretty intense panicky response when he sees Kate for the first time. Kate also vaguely references previous sexual acts between the two of them. Stiles is in a lot of pain from the fire and contemplates giving up on life. Scott is tied up against his will, but soon rescued. If there's anything else you think I should add, feel free to let me know!


	10. I Know Places We Can Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on surviving the roller coaster that was ch. 9! I had a lot of fun writing Kate. Here have some more angst and tiny bit of fluff. Thanks for reading as always. You guys are the best.
> 
> Also if anyone is interested I made a [haikyuu side blog](https://ftmnoya.tumblr.com/).

Alan Deaton was a born and bred druid. He had travelled the world for years before settling down in a village located beside a dryad’s forest and a naiad’s river. Even now, he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to finally close his wings and spread his roots. On the surface, there was nothing special about Beacon Hills. There weren’t even that many hills if he was being honest. Nevertheless, something in the earth had just called to Deaton, beckoning him like a homing beacon. 

The air had whispered reassurances that this was where he was supposed to be. And who was he to argue with that? It also didn’t hurt that he’d managed to secure a job as a part time vet when he wasn’t attending to issues of the supernatural nature. 

The town was relatively calm compared to other places Deaton had seen. The hunters here were very lax and the people quite deferential to the neighboring nature spirits. He was very pleased to see how the hunters led by Chris Argent and his daughter encouraged that awe and respect, insisting on everyone celebrating ancient festivals to honor the gods. The trees often hummed their contentment, a comforting sound that Deaton wished the masses could hear as well. The aura of the place shimmered and had a healthy glow. There were very few places the druid, in his worldly travels, had ever encountered that could compete with such human and spirit harmony. 

Now, Deaton glanced at the enormous wolf in the corner of his office. There were so many bandages and so little fur that had survived the flames that it was hard to even tell what kind of animal it was. Its dark, burned flesh contrasted starkly with the nest of pastel pillows and blankets it lay on. Nevertheless, it was still a much better sight than the bloody mess Argent and his daughter had burst through the doors carrying a week ago. That night, the druid wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to stay so late after closing. It was just a gut feeling. He was too experienced to risk ignoring those. As a result, he’d been puttering around cleaning the cat carriers until past midnight when he heard an insistent pounding. 

Deaton wanted to say he was surprised to see the village’s lead hunter and his daughter standing outside, covered in ash and blood, but he really wasn’t. The instant Katherine Argent had shown up, the druid had known something tragic was going to happen. The storm clouds were gathering. It was just a matter of waiting for the first bolt of lighting to crack the sky open. This was the storm he’d been waiting for, Deaton had decided as he quickly stepped back to let the hunters in. This might even be the very reason he was in Beacon Hills in the first place. 

Bending down to check once more that Derek’s chest was still steadily rising and falling, Deaton couldn’t help but feel a worm of worry. After the wolf had pulled through his first rough night, mostly thanks to Scott’s magic buoying his rapidly weakening life force, Deaton had been so confident that Derek would make a full recovery upon waking. But today marked the eighth day of the wolf’s unconsciousness. Deaton’s conviction was waning. Now, it was a matter of whether Derek would wake up at all. 

Everyone was holding their breaths. 

“How is he?” 

“The same,” responded Deaton automatically. It was the same question he’d been hearing nonstop for the past seven days. “His breaths are a little deeper though.” 

“And I’m guessing that doesn’t mean much,” Chris Argent said wearily. The door swung shut behind him. 

“I’m afraid not. He’s clearly stabilized at this point, so I’m worried that he’s not woken yet.” 

“That’s not the only thing to worry about,” muttered the hunter grimly. 

“The forest is still upset.” It wasn’t a question. 

Chris sighed. “You could say that. At this point, the only ones who can get even close are Scott and Kira. Sometimes Allison if Scott is with her. But she can’t make it past the treeline no matter what we do. Anyone else is out of the question. It’s like some invisible force field is keeping us back. ”

“Patience may be the best virtue in this situation.” Deaton advised sagely. He straightened up and made for a cabinet against the wall.

“Yeah, that sounds like an excellent plan for a community that doesn’t explicitly rely on the forest for all its resources,” snapped Chris. “Do you not realize that we get nearly  _everything_ from Stiles? Timber, herbs, meat. The next closest forest is miles away, and our reserves will only last for so long. It doesn’t help that it’s the gods damned middle of winter. If this keeps up, I’m considering a mass migration. It would be rough. Not everyone might make it, but if we stay here for much longer,  _everyone_ will perish.” 

“I know the circumstances are dire,” Deaton replied evenly.

Chris snorted at that, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Understatement of the century.” 

The druid took a bottle of mountain ash from the cupboard and uncorked it. Drizzling it over the flat surface of the metal operating table, Deaton murmured something in a language Chris didn’t recognize. Maybe archaic Latin? The black powder began to glow faintly. “But I’m afraid there’s little we can do with Derek out of action. You heard Scott and Kira: the forest is protecting itself while its dryad is still weak. The fact that Stiles himself has yet to wake isn’t particularly surprising. Tree nymphs can stand up to most anything. It takes a lot to kill or even harm them, but similarly they take a long time to heal.” 

Reaching back into the cabinet, Deaton grabbed a few sprigs of mistletoe. They burst into purple flames in his hands, burning like eerie candles. He tossed them into the mountain ash, which flared and sparked with icy blue fire that engulfed the powder. 

Chris tensed at the display of magic, but watched with interest nonetheless. “What are you doing?”

“Scott and Kira seem to think that Stiles is not only recuperating, but biding his time as well. And I must say I agree.” Deaton took a calming breath. His aura sensed the external stimuli and bubbled to the surface. Druid power relied far more on kickstarts like magic spells and tricky incantations, but once it was summoned it was some of the most powerful magic out there. 

“What is he waiting for?” 

“His nightcrawler.” Deaton buried his hand in the scruff of Derek’s fur. 

It came like a flood bursting its dam: all at once at a hundred miles per hour. It was mostly images inundating Deaton’s consciousness—ghastly shadows cast by devastating flames, the blur of tree trunks as Derek fled his home, a glimpse of Kira’s orange fur, the striking blue eyes of a snarling coyote, the laughing face of Stiles. But there were also distinct scents, not surprising for a wolf shifter that relied so heavily on his sense of smell—like the sharpness of tree sap and unfamiliar sweetness that must’ve been the dryad’s comforting natural scent. And then there were moments of sound that Derek had never quite forgotten—the dying howls of his family, the silky purr of Kate’s voice, the indignant squawk Scott had made when Derek had shaken out his wet fur to splatter the naiad with water droplets, a murmured, “I love you too, sourwolf.” 

Nevertheless, the most visceral of Derek’s sensations were the sheer emotions tumbling into Deaton’s mind, each one vying for the druid’s attention. The result was a chaotic maelstrom of heart-wrenching fear, wariness driven home by a tragic past of broken trust, and the unmistakable and indescribable feeling of falling in love. The druid had seen many corners the world, but the most brilliant of autumn leaves couldn’t compare to the conglomerate of vivid sensation he experienced now. 

If his mind was in such a troubled state, it was no wonder Derek’s physical body couldn’t wake up. The fire and Kate had overloaded his brain, like an engine overheating. It was working too hard and would combust if something didn’t slow it down. 

Doing his best to ignore the insistent buffeting of Derek’s memories, Deaton gathered his power. He let the magic build in his core, bubbling with anticipation. Then, it exploded outward in a rush. Derek’s consciousness froze for a second, screeching to a dead halt as Deaton’s manual override took effect. Then, after a few seconds to reboot itself, the cogs began to turn again—slower, this time. 

And then, Derek’s eyes flew open.

* * *

“How is he?”

“The same,” Scott replied glumly. He halfheartedly splashed his feet in the river, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“His tree?” 

“The leaves are turning yellow.” 

“His corporeal body?” 

“More moss has grown on it since the last time I visited. I’ve given up trying to wipe it off.” 

Kira nudged him reassuringly from where she sat beside the naiad, but her dark eyes sparkled with concern. It had been the longest week of her life after the fire had finally been put out with combined help from the spirits and humans. The entire village had been roused that night to do what they could. Not a single bucket or vase had been spared in the effort to mobilize Scott’s water into the interior of the forest where Scott couldn’t reach and flames continued to burn. The following dawn, the townspeople had gathered on the muddy bank and prayed for the forest. Scott thought it was a sweet sentiment and had made sure to thank them. 

Then he, Kira, and Chris’ hunters spent the next two days diligently patrolling the treeline. “Stiles won’t want anyone coming near while he’s so weak,” Scott had explained at the perplexed look on Chris’ face. “I think it will reassure him that he’s safe enough to let his guard down and focus all his energy on healing.” 

“If that’s what you think is best,” the hunter had conceded dubiously. But he didn’t question his orders and simply hefted his gun into a more comfortable position.

On the third day, the forest had lashed out. The trees had creaked ominously, the wind whistling a warning before a huge bear lumbered into view and charged at one of the hunters with an almighty roar. Luckily, both Scott and Kira were on duty as well and they leapt into action. Kira had darted in front of the great beast and barked, baring her teeth and flashing her eyes orange. Scott had rounded up all the humans and got them out of there as fast as he could. 

_They are not welcome,_ the bear had rumbled afterwards, gazing at the hunters’ retreating back.  _The great forest spirit has spoken to me._

“Stiles is awake?” Kira, human once more, cocked her head. Her heartbeat sped up. She hardly dared to hope. 

_It spoke, and I obeyed,_ the creature had insisted one last time. Then she turned and loped away. 

Scott and Kira glanced wonderingly at each other. 

But when the two had found themselves back into the clearing where Kira had taken Stiles during the fire, panting from an excited-but-don’t-get-your-expectations-up dash through the woods, they were disappointed to find the dryad still unconscious. It was eerie the way Stiles hadn’t moved an inch from where he was curled in his nest of moss. The only sign of any passage of time was how his hair was just a little bit longer, his frame just a little more gaunt, the air just a little more stale. It was like everything had just shuddered to a standstill the instant the Stiles had closed his eyes. 

Sighing, Kira had heavily sat down beside him. She dejectedly fluffed up the bedding where it had gone flat. She tried in vain to ignore the heavy hopelessness settling like a stone in her gut. She couldn’t remember a day in her life when Stiles hadn’t been there to guide and teach her; the ominous unmoored sensation unsettled her. 

“I don’t understand,” protested Scott. “The bear said Stiles talked to her, but he’s still out cold.” 

Kira said nothing for a moment. She mechanically ran her fingers through Stiles’ hair as she thought. Finally, she said, “I have heard of stories about nature spirits whose elements have come to life, in a way, when the host has become incapacitated. Maybe it wasn’t Stiles, but his forest itself.” At Scott’s quizzical look, she explained, “Stiles did his best to find information on my own culture, and one of the stories was a Japanese folktale about ancient times, before storms had lightning. 

“One day, a lightning kitsune was almost brought down by hunters. As it lay helpless on the ground, nearing death, they say a huge thunderstorm broke out and sent the hunters fearfully running away from the booming sound. The storm raged for seven days, long enough for the kitsune to recover and escape. They say that, as thanks, the fox spirit granted the dark rain clouds the power of electricity in hopes that the storm would continue to protect spirits from harmful humans. And that is why, today, rainstorms have both thunder and lightning.” A soft smile curved at Kira’s lips as she concluded the story, which was one of her favorites. 

“And you think that’s what’s happening?” Scott sounded thoughtful. “Stiles’ woods are protecting him while he’s out of it?”

“It’s a possibility,” shrugged Kira. “They kept us safe when I was taking him here. At the time, I’d thought it was Stiles’ himself doing magic involuntarily. But maybe I was wrong. What if it was a different kind of magic?” The supernatural was often times unpredictable, making the impossible possible. Its potential was unlimited. Kira wasn’t necessarily grasping at straws, but making an educated guess. 

“What’s that on his body?” Scott squinted, bending down to peer at his best friend. 

Kira had blinked, leaning closer too. She reached out to pick some of the green fluff that Scott noticed clinging to Stiles’ skin. “Moss?” It was sparsely scattered around the dryad, littering his skin. The green hue added a sickly sort of discoloration. 

“And mushrooms,” added Scott, tilting his head in confusion. “It kind of looks like this one huge tree that was decaying one time. Some sort of bark-eating bugs had got to it, and it had turned his weird pale color. It started growing some of these too.” He gestured to the fungi sprouting up around the dryad. “Once it started smelling funny and, like, looking all mushy and rotting, Stiles finally cut it down. He had a funeral and everything. He was really torn up about it.”

A chill had gone down Kira’s spine as she realized that Scott had just compared Stiles to a dying tree. 

“Scott!” 

Now, the naiad jerked his head up in surprise at the shout, jarred from his somber reverie. Kira turned as well, peering over her shoulder toward where the voice had come from. 

"Scott! Kira, grab him!" 

"Allison?" Scott leapt to his feet, water droplets running down his calves from where he'd been dipping his feet. They could see Allison running towards them, chasing something that was rapidly approaching. 

A huge black blur came charging toward them before they could react. It easily bowled over Kira, who'd shifted back into her fur. She fell into the river with a startled yelp, short legs flailing madly. Scot lunged for her, hoisting her above the surface as she sputtered and coughed. 

The jet black wolf was now nearly on the far bank, paddling confidently. Each measured stroke propelled him toward the forest on the far side. Scott had a split moment to take in the absolute determined concentration in the wolf's glazed eyes before he was hauling himself out of the current. A quick spray of water droplets from his shaggy coat, then the wolf disappeared into the trees, which welcomed him as though they just hadn't spent the last several days attempting to murder almost everyone that tried to approach. 

Not a moment later, Allison arrived panting at the shore. She doubled over, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. “He got away,” she huffed, wiping at the sweat trickling down her face. 

“Was that Derek?” demanded Scott, lifting the fox onto the safety of solid ground. 

Kira shook out her own pelt before shifting back. “He’s awake? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Yes,” panted Allison, straightening up to suck in a deep breath because she needed more than half a lungful of oxygen to answer the volley of questions. “A couple hours ago, Dad said that Deaton did something with his magic to break the coma. Derek woke up, but was apparently feral or something. I think that’s what Dad said. Anyways, he bolted, so Deaton contacted me because Dad knew that I was out hunting and could intercept him.” An apologetic smile curled at her mouth. “Clearly, that didn’t exactly work out.” 

Kira was already on the far bank by the time Allison finished her anecdote. Breaking into a run, she was nearly at the treeline where Derek had vanished when she let out a yelp of surprise and danced away from the tree branch that had come whipping out towards her. Paws scrabbling on the ground, Kira retreated a few yards. 

Then the earth began to tremble. Flattening her ears, Kira whined nervously and tucked her tail between her legs. Scott moved closer to Allison protectively, tightening his grip on his own magic just in case. The entire forest seemed to rock like a ship at sea as the trees began to wade through the soil. Huge, centuries-old boughs swayed dangerously as they slid backwards and left a wake of upturned dirt where massive root systems tore through the land. They drew closer and closer together until the trunks were as close as their roots allowed. Scott, Kira, and Allison gazed in awe at the gargantuan wall of bark and leaves that separated Stiles and the outside world. 

Scott could feel that it wasn’t just a physical barrier; there was great power imbued in the bulwark. “Stiles,” he whispered softly, “what are you doing?” 

Trembling, Kira approached the wood barricade cautiously. This time no stray vegetation tried to attack her, but, up close, she could see there was no way to get in. There weren’t gaps that her slender fox’s form could weasel through let alone a human-shaped Scott. She whined in earnest now, desperately pawing at the knobby trunks separating her from Stiles. Her paws came away black from the soot that still remained from the fire. Kira’s cries grew in volume, panic edging them on. Scott and Allison watched on helplessly. 

The forest remained stonily silent. 

* * *

Derek jerked awake with a sharp gasp and that horrible plummeting, stomach-twisting sensation that came with jolting back into consciousness. Except, multiply the usual heart-in-your-throat feeling by about a thousand. And one.

Everything felt like it was crashing down around him. He bolted to his paws. Then he promptly collapsed to the hard cold tile floor as his legs buckled and gave out. Hot flares of pain rippled through every inch of him. He blearily blinked back the haze clouding his vision. 

Loud voices grated  against his delicate ears. Derek whined at the unintelligible noises. The sterile scent of metal and antiseptic burned his nose and made his eyes water. His claws scrabbled against the smooth floor. Derek strained his protesting muscles to heave himself up as utter panic muddled his mind. 

The steel grey walls felt like they were closing in on him, squeezing the air from his lungs. The booming sound of footsteps rattled in Derek’s head. He whirled to bare his teeth at the threat. Something that might have been a low, reassuring murmur but sounded like nails on a chalkboard had the wolf flattening his ears fearfully. He backed up until his back hit a wall. 

Paralyzed, Derek stayed tensed even as the human—his nose told him it was a human—backed away slowly. Exhaustion pulled at his eyelids, which didn’t help his already murky vision. But his shaking limbs relaxed enough for him to crumple to the ground in a panting, disoriented heap. Something tugged at his chest, urging him to leave. But Derek just couldn’t muster up the energy despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. 

The harsh voices started up again, discordant and jarring. It set Derek’s teeth on edge, but he remained in his tightly curled ball—until,  _click_ . 

A roar ripped itself from his throat at the sound of the gun. Lunging blindly, Derek sent the weapon skittering away as he pounced on the man. Fire exploded in his exposed belly, and lava bled from the wound. Howling in agony, Derek lurched away from the hunter with a bloody dagger in his hand. 

Spotting a door out of the corner of his eye, the wolf launched himself toward it. His claws gouged huge, splintering gashes in the wood. The door rattled on its hinges. It took a few crucial seconds to batter it down, but soon the metal hinges gave way, and Derek was out. The new room looked just as bleak as the last, but the faint scent of fresh air nudged him helpfully along. Limping as fast as he could, Derek’s ears perked up at the sight of the pesky glass door separating him from the outside world. Eyes glowing a soft red, like dying coals, he picked up his pace until his paws just skimmed the ground. With an almighty crash sprinkled with the tinkle of shattered glass, Derek broke free. 

Everything after that was a blur. He could vaguely feel hard packed dirt beneath his paws, long stalks of grass tickling his legs, the sting of plunging belly-first into freezing water. He couldn’t think, couldn’t stop, just knew he had to keep moving. There was something, a string attached to his heart, pulling him along and leading him home. 

If he’d been in his right mind, Derek would’ve laughed because he hadn’t had a home since he killed his family all those years ago. He’d lost it and sure as hell didn’t deserve another one. Yet here he was now, sprinting like a bat out of Hell.  

But he soon slowed his pace, tongue lolling, and felt the cool shade from the forest canopy on his back. Derek’s pounding heartbeat eased at the familiar, if a bit charred, scent of sweet flowers and supple wood. More than anything, however, was the aura that washed over and embraced him like a long lost lover. It wrapped him up, mitigating the pain from his wounds and exhaustion pulling at his limbs. The forest seemed to recognize him and whisper,  _Welcome back._

And Derek, well, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much like he belonged somewhere. 

The murkiness of his mind lessened a bit as well, but he was too tired to bother with trying to parse his memories. Soon, his toughest battle became simply dragging one foot in front of the other. The instinct telling him that he hadn’t reached his destination persisted, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. So he kept going. 

The undergrowth rustled a greeting that Derek returned with a feeble twitch of his tail. The very earth hummed encouragement that had him lifting his head eagerly. 

The path he’d been following soon opened up to reveal a small glade. It was almost untouched by the fire, the grass still green and the pond at the heart still crystal clear. And then Derek’s eyes fell on the small form curled up in a nest at the edge of the clearing. A helpless noise was ripped from his throat, something between a whine and a keening sound. In an instant, he loped across the clearing to the curl tightly around Stiles. He buried nose in the crook of the dryad’s neck. Pressing for as much skin contact as possible, the wolf let out a deep sigh as the tightness in his chest loosened. Derek couldn’t hold back a content rumble as he nuzzled Stiles and licked his bare skin. 

It tasted like ash. 

A few sluggish heartbeats later, the dryad stirred for the first time in over a week. Eyelids fluttering, Stiles grinned weakly into the familiar black fur. It sapped up the tiny reserve of energy that he had, but Stiles managed to sling an arm over the wolf. 

Derek squirmed closer. His green eyes gazed at Stiles for a moment, drinking him in as though he couldn’t get enough. 

“You’re okay. Thank gods.” Stiles’ lips twitched up feebly. “I knew you’d come back to me.” 

Derek whimpered and nudged him softly. 

“I missed you too, sourwolf.” His eyes slid shut once more. They both slept. 


	11. Winter Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girls find each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know I said the equinox chapter and the fire chapter were tied for my fav chapters overall, but this chapter has my favorite scene out of this whole fic. Hope you guys are ready for some serious kira/malia feels! Thanks for reading/commenting/etc as always. I absolutely love hearing your thoughts.

Deaton wasn’t necessarily surprised at the fact that Derek had fallen into a feral, fugue state of sorts when he awoke. He’d had a hunch. After all, the fire had been traumatizing for the wolf, so it made sense that Derek would seek his mate for comfort in the face of his vulnerability. Shutting down all but the most necessary mental functions would act like a coping mechanism. It shoved all the stress away until Derek felt like he was in a safe enough environment to properly process it all. 

So when the wolf had panicked and clearly not recognized the druid, Deaton immediately backed off and tried to give Derek space. There was no use trying to talk Derek down and reason with him if he wasn’t showing signs of having a human mental capacity. Deaton didn’t want to send him running to Stiles unless absolutely necessary. They needed Derek was on their side as a link to Stiles. Otherwise, they had no other way of communicating with the missing dryad. 

What Deaton hadn’t counted on was the way Chris had taken one look at the wild, out of control looking wolf and readied his weapon. The sharp crack of the gun cocking had pushed Derek’s wavering fight or flight instincts off the edge, past the point of no return. 

As the wolf made his escape, Deaton gave it up as a lost cause. Luckily, he also knew exactly where Derek was going. 

“What the hell?” Chris grunted out as he clambered to his feet, wincing at the claw marks Derek had left on him. 

“You startled him,” Deaton explained, voice unforgiving. “You said Allison was out hunting near the river, correct?” Without waiting for an answer, he began bustling around his office again. He opened some cabinets and reached into a drawer to pull out a few choice herbs and a mortar and pestle. Deaton quickly began to grind up the ingredients. He muttered something under his breath. A small plume of smoke poofed up from the stone bowl. The purple cloud cleared to reveal the contents of the mortar glowing with an ethereal light. 

“Allison?” 

“Dr. Deaton?”  

Chris blinked in surprise when he heard his daughter’s voice come from the bowl. 

“Allison, I need you to listen carefully. Derek has just woken up. He’s not in his right mind and escaped the clinic. He’ll be headed toward Stiles’ forest. Your father tells me that you’re in that direction right now.” 

“Yeah, I am. I’ll try and intercept him.” 

“Be careful,” interjected Chris gruffly. “He’s feral, Allison, and unpredictable. Do what you have to in order to protect yourself.” 

“I’m not going to hurt him, Dad,” Allison retorted impatiently. Her breaths came shorter like she was already on the move. 

“I’m not saying to,” he replied. “I just want you to properly defend yourself. You need to put your own safety above your friendship. Do you understand?” 

“I will. Don’t worry. Oh, I think I see him.” 

“Good luck,” Deaton said. 

“Thanks,” she panted back. “Bye, Dr. Deaton. Bye, Dad. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

Deaton severed the connection and the mortar faded back into an ordinary mush of dried berries and leaves. 

Druids dedicated themselves to the balance of the world—nature versus humans, magic versus mundane. It had been a long time since he had interfered this much. He did his best not to, knowing most things would naturally find stability given time. But when the earth trembled and the ley lines hummed angrily no less than fifteen minutes later, Deaton knew his work was not yet done. He sighed. 

“Earthquake?” Chris asked hopefully when the shaking stopped. 

But Deaton could feel the way the energy shifted and the woods screamed. Stiles had been the heart of the local region for generations. He served as the lifeblood and power source. His inherent connection to the place kept the grass green and the animals happy. His magic hummed all the way out by Beacon Hills, but now it was gone. Where Deaton could usually count on the faint drone of Stiles’ essence, there was nothing but dead silence. 

It was as if the dryad had completely cut himself off from the rest of the world.

Deaton grimaced and answered, “If only we were so lucky.” 

* * *

“What the hell happened?” burst out of Allison’s mouth as she approached the veterinarian's office. Scott and Kira followed closely behind.

The smashed glass on the ground crinkled and winked in the sunlight. Chris and Deaton opened the empty metal frame of the front door and stepped over it.

“Can you feel it?” Deaton glanced at both Scott and Kira. 

“Yes,” Kira said softly. Scott nodded seriously as well, eyes worried. 

“Feel what?” demanded Allison, glancing between the three of them who seemed to be in on the joke. “What are you talking about?” 

“It’s,” Scott began helplessly, making a vague gesture, “kind of hard to explain in words, especially to a human.” 

“Well try,” she snapped. Allison knew she was being unreasonable and short-tempered, and part of her winced at how she was treating Scott. But she was terrified; her heart felt like it was trying to beat of her chest. She could feel the grim pall that had gathered around Beacon Hills like swelling storm clouds. The mounting tension set her on edge, skin prickling as she waited for the tempest to break. 

Scott shot a beseeching look at Kira, who tried, “It’s, like, you know how trees are connected to the earth by their roots? Well, we’re all connected to Stiles. He is our earth, the life source of the whole region surrounding Beacon Hills. It extends to every living creature, even you humans. But I think magical beings tend to feel it more.” 

She looked to Deaton, who nodded encouragingly, before continuing, “It’s a metaphysical bond of sorts, something you can feel at all times, but, like,  _inside_ you. Most of the time it’s kind of hovering in the back of your mind, but recently it’s been really active because Stiles has been anxious and in danger. But it was always there.” 

Allison felt dread gnawing at her insides as she sensed the direction this talk was going. “And now?” 

“It’s gone,” Kira’s said softly. “I can’t feel Stiles at all.” 

“Which means what for us?” Chris asked, mouth set in a hard line. 

“It means soon this whole place will start dying without Stiles here to support it,” Deaton replied gravely. “So we have a choice to make. Do we stay here and wait for Stiles to recover, or do we start readying the village for a migration?”

Chris’ hands clenched into fists while Deaton plowed on, “It will be risky to stay if we don’t have complete faith that Stiles will return to us. But if we decide to leave, we have to hurry. The journey will be hard, and winter is nearly upon us.” 

“Of course we’re going to stay,” Allison frowned. It was incomprehensible for her to even consider abandoning her home and friends. As her gaze flicked to the determined faces of Scott and Kira, she knew with all her heart that they would never give up on Stiles. This place was their home even more so than it was hers. 

“Allison,” Chris said gently, “I understand you want to be with your friends but we have to think of the whole town. Mary just had a baby and the Parrishes have twins on the way. Would it really benefit everyone as a whole if we stood our ground, or would it only cause more unnecessary death? Our food stores won’t last forever. There is no game to hunt. The ground is already too hard to plant anything else.” 

As if confirming his dire words, the first snowflakes of the season began to lazily drift down from the dreary grey sky. 

* * *

Kira knew that there were a dozen other things vying for her attention, but she couldn’t shake off an unnerving feeling sitting like lead in her stomach. Well, more unnerving than the entirety of Beacon Hills electing to up and leave, or the fact that Stiles might be dying and no one could do a damn thing.

She also hadn’t seen Malia since the fire  three weeks ago , but not for lack of trying. Kira had scoured every one of their old hang outs, checked all of Malia’s favorite hiding places, and even called in a couple favors to see if any surrounding villages had seen a coyote wandering around. 

No one had. 

Kira frowned harder, tamping down the hurt welling up inside her. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Malia had abandoned her after all. Then she got angry at herself for even thinking that. If Malia promised to come back, she would come back. Though, that didn’t make the waiting any better. Shaking her head, Kira sullenly kicked a pinecone on the ground with her foot. 

The pinecone rolled away into the tall grass. Kira deflated a bit. So much for letting out her frustrations. But something childish and eager bubbled up inside her, and Kira gravitated towards her lost pinecone’s trajectory despite herself. One more kick couldn’t hurt. 

She spotted her prize a dozen feet away and trotted towards it, eyes fixated. But a metallic gleam caught the corner of her gaze, and Kira froze. Half hidden under a bush, like it had been unceremoniously dumped and kicked under there, sat an maliciously-gleaming bear trap with its deadly-looking metal jaws and delicate spring. 

Kira’s eyes widened and she yelped in surprise, almost toppling backwards in her haste to get away from it. Her first instinct was to find Allison and tell her one of her hunters had left some of their gear here. But then she realized she couldn’t just leave an unsprung trap where some poor creature could come and step on it. So Kira found a thick branch and carefully pressed down on the weight-sensitive platform. Even though she was expecting it, she can’t help a terrified squeak as the steel clamp crunched the wood like a toothpick. 

Now that she really looked at the trap, though, Kira noticed that the metal teeth weren’t as immaculate as she’d first thought. Kneeling down as close as she dared, Kira squinted at the faint smear of rust-colored something coloring the grey metal. 

“Is that…” Kira muttered to herself, leaning down to sniff. She stiffened as the faded scent of Malia’s blood reached her nose.

* * *

Allison pinched the bridge of her nose. In all the chaos immediately after the fire, she had been busy scrambling around making sure no Beacon Hills citizens had been injured. Then the fiasco with the forest magically sealing itself had happened.

But now that she finally had a free moment, Allison had to turn her attention to Kate’s remaining henchmen. Some had perished in the fire itself, but most had been caught fleeing after Kate’s death. She and her father temporarily threw them in a holding cell to keep them out of the way. However, most of Beacon Hills was finished or nearly finished packing for the long winter migration by now. 

“What are you going to do with them?” asked Deaton mildly. He calmly went about opening the cupboards in his clinic, double-checking that they were empty and everything had been stowed away. 

Allison sighed, bracing herself against the metal medical exam table in the middle of the room. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? By hunter law, we have the right to kill them. They broke our code, hunting creatures that never harmed anyone.” 

“But?” Mason prompted from the other side of the room. He diligently labelled glass jars storing variegated powders and roots and herbs. Although he was studying magic under Deaton, Mason had chosen to remain in Beacon Hills with Mason, Brett, Hayden, and the rest of the supernatural creatures. Allison wasn’t particularly surprised; although human, Mason was practically part of Satomi’s pack at this point. 

“But, I don’t think I could do it in good conscience,” Allison admitted, chewing on her lip. “On the other hand, we have enough problems without adding transporting prisoners to the equation.” 

“Those hunters, they were loyal to Kate?” Deaton inquired, ducking down to check the cabinets under the counter as well. 

“Extremely,” grimaced Allison. “But now that she’s gone, I wonder if we could get them to pledge their allegiance to us.” 

Mason piped up, “Worth a shot,” just as the doors to the animal clinic banged open. 

“Allison!” 

Allison jumped to attention, striding towards the voices. “Scott?” 

Before she could reach the lobby, Scott and Kira burst into the exam room. 

“Allison, where are Kate’s hunters?” Scott panted. “Can you take us to them?” 

Allison started at the unexpected question. “Uh, yes, of course. They’re in a temporary holding cell on the outskirts of town. Why?” 

Instead of answering, Kira thrust something that clanked loudly into Allison’s face. Allison jerked back and then leaned forward to look at the contraption more closely. She pursed her lips at the old blood flaking off the bear trap. Everyone in Beacon Hills used non-lethal snares to catch game, which meant the culprits had to be outsiders. Anger flared up in her at Kira’s stricken, but determined face. 

Allison clenched her fists. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

Allison knew it would be bad from the moment Kira had come tearing through the town shouting about Malia being caught in a hunter’s trap. She knew it would be even worse once she and her father had realized the trap didn’t belong to any Beacon Hills hunter, but to one of Kate’s henchmen.

_“Kate must’ve been rounding up supers the night of the fire,” Chris had realized grimly, face grave. “Maybe she was going to sell them. There’s probably a storage facility around here somewhere. Kate was expecting to come back to collect them, but obviously she never did.”_

_“We’ll find Malia,” Allison had reassured Kira firmly. “Don’t worry.”_

_“One of Kate’s men will talk,” agreed Chris. He cracked his knuckles intimidatingly._

Allison still wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her eyes as she hauled open the door to Kate’s prison. The stench alone nearly knocked her on her ass: rotting flesh, fecal matter, urine, suffering, death. 

Scott recoiled violently, eyes watering. 

She breathed shallowly through her mouth, held out her lantern to illuminate the pitch black, and led the way. Tiny chambers lined the central walkway. Most held dead creatures that had succumbed to starvation or thirst during their three-week sentence—skinny gnomes, dull sprites, blank-eyed fairies. Some held barely-alive souls that Allison’s heart hurt to look at as Melissa McCall and Mason quickly rushed in to administer first-aid. 

Allison’s hands shook, with grief and rage, sending the yellow light skittering. Firm, calloused hands steadied hers. Allison shot a grateful glance back to her father and took a deep breath. 

The group continued onward until the very last enclosure. Allison held up her lantern, but couldn’t see far into the deep cell. With a slightly shaky hand, she slid the key into the lock and cracked open the door. She cautiously stepped into the silent darkness, lamplight stretching out to settle on a hunched shape in the far corner. 

“Malia!” Kira darted forward before the name even left her lips. 

“Kira, wait!” Allison shouted. Her heart leapt to her throat as she saw the ragged figure, huddled in the dark corner of the dank cell, tense in its crouched position—ready to pounce. She ran to catch up to Kira, but Scott was faster. 

In a heartbeat, he launched himself at Kira, bowling her out of the way just as Malia sprung into action. The chains and metal cuffs locked onto her wrists and ankles clanked as they snapped taut, but Malia still managed to sink her claws into Scott’s flesh with a growl. Her lip curled up, nostrils flaring, eyes wild with blood lust. 

“Malia,” Scott grunted with the effort of grappling on his back to keep her from disemboweling him with one well-aimed swipe. “It’s me, Scott!” But there was no recognition in her contorted face. She snarled ferociously at him. 

Kira sat up where Scott had knocked her, slack-jawed and disbelieving. “Malia?” 

And then there was an ominous crackle of electricity as two of Kate’s hunters, who had acted as guides to the jail, warily approached Malia. “Put him down,” one of them barked. 

Malia just bared her bloody, snaggly fangs in defiance. But she shrunk back a little at the sight of the flickering blue stun batons. One sharp jab of them had her scrambling back with a pained yelp as the static singed her skin. She pressed herself back against the cold wall, trembling. 

“What have you done to her?” demanded Kira, clambering to her feet and whirling on the hunters. She furiously curled her hands into tight fists and narrowed her eyes. She glanced at Malia, who carefully eyed the hunters’ weapons through her curtain of matted hair. Her sallow, grimy skin clung too tightly to prominent ribs and thin limbs. Her nudity made it easy to see how hollow and gaunt she was, and for some reason that was what set Kira off. Just the fact that they had dehumanized Malia to the point of keeping her locked up naked like some sort of wild animal. 

“How dare—how could…” Kira was spitting mad, unable to even make a coherent sentence. She felt blood drip down her hand where her claws dug into her palms. She carefully unfurled her fists, but barely felt them sting. 

“How long has she been here?” Scott asked, eyebrows scrunched in concern.

“Have you even been giving her food and water?” snapped Kira. 

“We did,” retorted one of the hunters indignantly, “until you locked us up. So she hasn’t eaten for a week at least, but she wouldn’t eat before that anyway. We had to practically force the water down her throat.” He gestured to a dingy metal bowl in the corner, dry as a bone.

“Well what did you try to feed her?” Kira snapped irritably. She figured discovering her girlfriend caged like some sort of wild beast in a prison cell was a decent excuse for being slightly short-fused. 

The man shrugged. “What we would give any other prisoner. Some rice porridge, oatmeal, leftover stuff.” 

“You tried to give a starving,  _carnivorous_ coyote oatmeal?” It took all of Kira’s self control not to drag her claws down his ignorant, slightly sheepish face. 

“We…we didn’t think about that.” 

“How long has she been here?” repeated Allison cooly, forcing down her own fit of pique. She would deal with incompetent hunters later. Right now, Malia was their number one priority. Allison wondered how long Malia’s bowl of water had lasted her. Based on the cracked and bleeding state of Malia’s lips, Allison guessed not much. 

“We found her when the fire occurred.” 

“Over three weeks!” Kira shouted, temper snapping. “You’ve caged her up like some sort of animal for a month!” She lunged forward, vision red, but Scott caught her around the waist to hold her back. 

“Enough,” he said firmly, but he sounded sick. “Fighting them won’t make things better.” 

“No wonder she’s feral!” Kira continued to scream. Tears streamed down her face as she fought Scott to be freed. “You monsters made her like this!” 

Malia shifted restlessly, whining at Kira’s obvious upset. But she took one look at the hunters and their weapons and stayed put. That only made Kira cry harder. Before, Malia would’ve been at her side in an instant despite the hunters. Now, her coyote instincts had overridden her humanity again. 

“She was like this when we found her,” the other hunter shot back hotly. 

“Leave,” Allison interrupted, expression stony. Her eyes were icy chips of flint as she commanded, “Give me the keys to her chains and get out of here.” 

The hunters seemed more than eager for an excuse to get out of there. One flung Allison the key. 

“You’re sure you’ll be fine?” Chris pressed, glancing between Allison and the retreating hunters’ backs. “I don’t want to leave them unsupervised.” 

Allison nodded. 

“Take of yourself.” Then Chris was gone. 

As soon as the door to the holding cell slammed shut, Kira stilled in Scott’s arms. “How could they,” she hiccupped, “do this to someone?” 

“I don’t know,” Scott hugged her tightly, “but right now you need to be strong. For Malia’s sake.” 

“I… yeah.” Wiping her eyes, Kira turned back to Malia, who gazed at her unblinkingly. “Allison, can I have the key?” 

“Be careful,” warned Allison, scrutinizing the coyote suspiciously. She knew Malia in her right mind wasn’t a threat to any of them, but she wasn’t herself right now. She tossed the key to Kira anyway. Kira knew Malia best, and Allison trusted her judgement. 

Slowly, Kira crept toward Malia, hand extended calmingly. In a heartbeat, Malia charged forward with a vicious snarl and gnashing teeth. She strained at her bonds, the chains jangling and snapping tight as she reared up and reached for Kira with extended claws. Blood trickled from her split and peeling lips. 

Kira didn’t flinch, even though Malia’s claw tips flexed mere inches from her face. 

“Stay. Away,” Malia gritted out through clenched fangs. Her eyes oscillated rapidly from electric blue to dark brown, the thick whites of her eyes ringing her irises. Sweat beaded her brow. She heaved huge, panting breaths to fight for the last vestiges of her control. But she couldn’t resist the urge to fling herself forward again. She roared when the cold metal cuffs bit into her wrists and blood dribbled down her arms. 

“Just breathe, okay? I’m not gonna leave you,” Kira said quietly. 

“What if I hurt you?” grunted Malia, words lisped and muffled from her dripping maw. But Kira could still hear the fear in her voice. 

“You’re not going to.” 

“But I really want to,” Malia groaned, face contorted as she battled not only the shackles digging into her skin but also the internal, primal urges spurring her on. Her eyes stopped flickering like broken lights in favor of shining a preternatural blue. Her weak grasp onto her humanity slipped further and further away. 

A horrible, forbidding crunching noise suddenly split the room as Malia swiped at Kira with her right hand. The eye hook screwed into the wall wobbled for a split second before the stone crumbled. Malia lurched forward with a savage snarl, the chain binding her arm snapping free. 

Kira scrambled back with a gasp. She scrabbled on the smooth ground as she threw herself back out of Malia’s newly extended range. She cried out when the chain whipped through the air to strike her across the face. Cradling her temple, Kira drew her hand back to see it covered in blood. 

Glancing up, she saw Malia wrestling with her remaining restraints. Deeming them lost causes, Malia turned on Kira again. She lunged forward with a snarl. Clawing at the air, straining to reach Kira, she let out another howl. 

“Malia,” Kira said, hands up placatingly, “I know you’re still there. I know you can hear me. We’ll get through this. Just listen to my voice.” 

“Listen to mine.” Malia’s response sounded rougher and more guttural, like she was losing the ability to speak altogether. “ _Run_ !” 

Kira hardened her gaze, shoving down any inkling of fear. She’d never seen Malia like this before, so wild and unhinged. For the first time in her life, Kira wasn’t completely assured of her safety around Malia. But, “I’m not gonna run,” she said firmly. She managed to keep her tone mostly steady and thanked the gods for small mercies. “Because I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me. Not you. But I think—I  _know_ —you’re terrified of it. You’re so scared of losing control.” 

Malia whirled, wrapping her free hand around the remaining chains and yanking with all her might. She growled in frustration when the metal stayed firmly in place. 

“I’ve lived my whole life without that kind of control,” Kira continued, slowly approaching Malia’s half-turned back, “until you taught me how to master it, okay? I’ve never been able to control my shift or my heightened senses, but I think I turned out alright. So if I’ve learned one thing, it’s this.” Kira took a deep breath. Her heart hammered in her chest. She was close enough that Malia could kill her with one well aimed slash across the throat. “Control? It’s overrated.” 

Malia looked at her over her shoulder, hand still loosely wrapped around the chain. Her blue eyes roved over Kira’s face. Her heavy breathing and the quiet clanking of metal perforated the silence. 

Kira stepped right beside her. She swallowed audibly. 

Malia straightened up, chest heaving and mouth open and panting. Her face twisted with confusion and shock, unsure of what to do as Kira deftly slid the key into each lock one after another. Malia could practically taste the fear wafting from the girl, yet she was undoing the bindings. It was enough to give her whiplash. Malia furrowed her eyebrows skeptically. 

But the surprise only lasted so long. Even before Malia’s last manacle jangled to the floor, she tackled Kira with an animalistic snarl. They crashed to the floor in a scuffle. 

“No!” Kira shouted even as Malia’s claws sliced her arms and hands, scrabbling for her throat,  “Stay back!” 

Scott and Allison hesitated, exchanging worried looks. At Scott’s trusting nod, Allison stood down and lowered her crossbow. She didn’t really have a clear shot anyways, but that didn’t stop Allison’s heart from madly battering her ribcage. 

Blood smeared on the ground where Malia pinned Kira. Malia’s lip curled in triumph. But it was an empty victory because Kira hadn’t put up a fight at all. She had just gone limp, let Malia loom over her. 

“I told you to run,” Malia rumbled and tightened her grip on Kira, who winced. “Now it’s too late.” 

“Then do it,” Kira breathed. She tipped her head back and slowly guided Malia’s ragged claws to her exposed throat. “Kill me. Then I’ll know I’ve really lost the… the person I love.” Her voice wavered. Her heart pounded. She honestly had no idea what Malia would do. And it was that, more than anything else, that chilled Kira straight to her core: the idea that she no longer knew the girl staring at her. 

Razor sharp claws dragged lightly against Kira’s skin, leaving pinpricks of blood. Malia stared silently down at Kira. Her poised fingers twitched. 

“Do it,” Kira repeated. With a shaking hand, she pressed Malia’s claws harder against her throat. A bead of blood slid down her neck onto the ground. 

“I… I  _can’t_ .” Malia’s voice broke; she sucked in a hitching, shaky breath. Except it lacked the heavy, throaty sound from before because Malia was suddenly a blunt-nailed, fangless human. She could barely hold herself up. All the fight seemed to have vanished with her fangs. 

“Malia?” Kira weakly sat up, wincing as her body protested. 

Malia sat back on her haunches. She stared with wet eyes at her clawless hands. Dried blood still crusted her fingertips, but the feral fire that had been burning her up from the inside had gone. Instead, the weight of everything that she’d done while out of control came crashing down on her. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath when she caught sight of the blood sluggishly oozing from the gashes on Kira’s arms. 

“I—” But what could Malia say that could possibly make up for every horrible thing she’d done? She’d tried to kill Kira, the one person who she promised she would never hurt. The tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them. Without wild bloodlust clouding her senses, Malia felt overwhelmed at the thought of what she’d tried to do, what she’d  _wanted_ to do. She curled in on herself, hugged her arms to her stomach as she slid weakly to her knees. 

But then Kira threw her arms around Malia, who let out a garbled sob as she finally broke down. “Shhh,” Kira soothed, petting Malia’s greasy, disheveled hair with one hand as she cradled Malia. “It’s okay. You did it. We’re okay. I’m so proud of you.” 

Malia clung to her, hunched up as small as she could in an effort to fit in Kira’s lap, her safe space. Shoving her nose at Kira’s pulse and closing her eyes to block out the grim tableau of her prison, Malia struggled to calm herself with the familiar scent. She grasped at the smell of sweet lilacs and lightning storms and love. Her breaths came a little easier after that. 

“C’mon,” Kira murmured, “let’s get you out of here.” 

“I…” sniffed Malia, scrubbing at her ruddy face. “Okay.” At last, she blinked open her eyes, and Kira watched her blue irises fade to brown like a fire finally fizzling out. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, the kira/malia scene at the end was almost exactly like the stalia scene in s4 where stiles has malia chained up under the lydia's lake house and lets her go. As much as I'm meh about stalia, that scene fucks me up every time, so obviously I had to adopt it for my fav femslash ship <3


	12. I know For Me, It’s Always You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balance is restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is kinda late. I totally forgot I hadn't posted it lol. Also AO3 has been being a little bitch for the past like week or 2??? Anyways, finally this crazy journey is over! Thank you all so much for joining me on it and cheering me on. You guys are the best <3 Every comment and every kudos made me smile like an idiot and reminded me why I started writing in the first place. I had a blast writing this, and I hope you all enjoyed it too. 
> 
> As always you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com). Also check out my [haikyuu side blog](http://www.ftmnoya.tumblr.com).

“We need to send them a sign.”

Derek cocked his head, tail twitching.

“Scott and Kira and the rest,” explained Stiles.

The huge black wolf flattened his ears and hunched his shoulders in clear displeasure.

“They think we’re freaking dead, Derek,” Stiles frowned. “They deserve to know we’re doing okay.” Then he paused. “Well, okay is a relative term, really. I mean, we’re not dead, so I count that as okay.”

Derek gave him a flat look.  

“Shut up, I’m hilarious and you love me.” Stiles made a face. “Now help me change the bedding; this moss is starting to smell.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but obligingly nudged Stiles out of their nest with his nose. Stiles complained heartily about it. But he soon ran out of breath to do more than wheeze ineffectually about “the gods damned ice cube” on the end of Derek’s face.

Derek hated the pallor of Stiles’ skin despite having over a week of almost uninterrupted sleep to recover. He hated the brittleness of the grass underfoot, the lingering stink of burned wood, the ash clogging the air—the signs of Stiles’ fragility.

Once Stiles had safely settled against a tree trunk to catch his breath, Derek pawed the old moss into a clump. He began to clumsily roll it out of the glade. He knew hands and arms might be better equipped for the job, but he couldn’t bear to strip himself of the comfort his four paws and tail offered. If Derek gave into the urge, he worried that his hands might shake. A fur coat gave him a calming sense of control, anchored him in a way human skin couldn’t.

* * *

“We’re going to leave soon.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t packed yet.”

Allison grimaced. “I know.”

Chris hesitated on his way out the door. His hand tightened on the door knob. He chewed his lip. It was times like these that he wondered if Victoria would know what to say. But he didn’t have Victoria anymore and settled on, “I’m going to go help the Boyds out today. They’re taking the news badly.”

“The news” being that Boyd, along with most of the supers in Beacon Hills, was staying behind. They were just too closely tied to Stiles to even think about abandoning him, even if Stiles never recovered and they all died without his life force. Humans didn’t understand that type of bond, and some like Mr. Harris even accused the supers of “deserting” the village.

Allison knew the Boyd family was especially struggling because Boyd was the oldest of five young children. His parents relied heavily on him to care for his younger siblings.

Allison nodded and added, “Valerie Clark asked me the other day if there was anything she could do to help. She’s ready to go since it’s just her because Hayden’s staying. You could ask her to come too.”

Chris nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but left without a word.

Allison forlornly watched the snow gently falling outside. The village was due to leave any day now, to trek miles and miles away until they either found a new place to settle or another town to stay for the winter. They needed to start travelling before the worst storms hit and blizzards rendered the roads unusable.

But Allison wasn’t ready to leave. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready. This place was her home. She had grown up splashing in Scott’s creek and romping in Stiles’ woods. Sometimes she barely recognized the scorched trees and sooty water, but it was still _hers_. She had fallen in love here and had her first kiss, first time, first everything. How could she leave that all behind?

However, Allison also had a duty to the citizens of Beacon Hills as their hunter matriarch. Just as the land was hers, so too were the people.

Shaking her head, Allison pulled on her boots and stood. She didn’t have time to waste pondering impossible choices when there was work to be done.

* * *

Over the next days, Derek caught Stiles trying out his magic. At first, he didn’t realize what was happening. All he knew was that Stiles would immediately stop whatever he was doing with a guilty look on his face every time Derek came back from an outing. Most of the time, Derek had more pressing matters at hand like exchanging old bedding with new moss he had just gathered or storing the fresh water he fetched from the stream for the days when Stiles was too weak to get it himself. So, Derek left Stiles’ mysterious antics alone.

However, Derek got suspicious after the fifth time he returned to the clearing from a hunt only to see Stiles hastily scramble up from a crouched position and swipe a hurried hand over the dirt to erase any evidence.

“Stiles?”

“Nothing,” Stiles chirped unconvincingly and bounded over. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. What’s up?”

Ignoring Stiles’ obvious deflections, Derek sniffed the air and blinked in surprise at the faint scent of ozone. “Stiles, is your magic coming back?”

“Um, a little?” Stiles sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve been practicing. I can’t get much more than sproutlings, but, uh, yeah. I guess so.”

Derek peered around him and spotted the green stalks stubbornly peeking out of the dirt. He walked over to crouch down by them and grinned broadly. The delicate scent of new growth sweetened the smoky, ashy air. “That’s not nothing. That’s progress.”

“Barely,” Stiles argued halfheartedly with a bashful shrug.

Derek stepped forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “It means you’re healing. We’re going to be okay.”

“You doubted me?” Stiles asked in mock offense, mouth quirking up.

Derek gazed solemnly at Stiles, at the dappled light hugging his cheek bones and illuminating his eyes. “Never.”

* * *

Allison decided her obligation as the head huntress came before any personal feelings 4 days before the town’s departure.

Chris solemnly hugged her close and whispered how proud he was of her into her hair.

Allison didn’t know why the words failed to ease the ache in her chest.

* * *

“I’m ugly.”

“You’re not ugly.”

“I’m ugly.”

“…You’ve seen better days.”

“Ha! I knew it! You’re going to leave me for a more beautiful, nubile dryad than myself.” Stiles’ voice was lighthearted and playful. But Derek heard the underlying fear that sounded heartbreakingly genuine.

“Brat,” he huffed, but wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist to haul him closer. Derek pressed his nose first to the dryad’s neck, mindful of the still-healing burns, before resting his cheek on Stiles’ head. “You loved me when I thought no one ever could. And I love you, scars and all.”

Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip, wincing when his tender skin pulled taut. “I’m scared of what’s gonna happen next,” admitted Stiles in a tiny voice as he clung to Derek.

“So am I,” Derek confessed, heart thumping faster at the mere thought of what was going on outside the safe haven the trees ensconced them in. “But whatever comes, we’ll get through it same as we got through everything else.”

“Sheer dumb luck?”

Derek snapped his teeth playfully at the Stiles’ cheekiness, but the dryad just giggled. “Together,” corrected Derek.

Eyes slipping shut, Stiles let out a low sigh of contentment. The sensation felt strange—dulled, tingly, and a little painful—where his scarred flesh rasped roughly against Derek’s smooth skin. But Derek didn’t utter one noise of complaint. Heart swelling with affection, Stiles let sleep wash over him.

* * *

Kira felt like her entire world was crumbling—or, more accurately, burning. She spent most nights restlessly tossing and turning, unable to sleep without the comforting rustle of leaves or scamper of nocturnal paws.

Occasionally, she and Malia gave up on sleep all together and went for a nighttime stroll. Malia seemed to truly relax for the first time since her ordeal during these midnight meanders. She cautiously left Kira’s side to sniff animal trails, her stressed tension melted away, and her eyes shone under the moonlight.

It brought a smile to Kira’s weary face, and she thought, perhaps not all was lost.

* * *

“So this is it.”

Allison dug the heel of her boot into the half-frozen ground, chest tightening. She had hoped it would hurt less this way—being able to choose to say goodbye instead of waiting for the inevitable split, having some hollow semblance of control. But now she couldn’t even meet Scott’s eyes.

“I guess so.” The words were ripped from her throat, shoved out by necessity because she owed this to Scott. After everything they’d been through together, she owed her first love some sort of closure.

Scott chuckled nervously, “I don’t know what to say. It’s like trying to talk to you for the first time all over again.”

 _A full circle,_ Allison thought to herself, fascinated in a cynical kind of way. _We’ve come in a full circle._ “Yeah.” She choked out a weak laugh. “Except this time, you won’t ask me to go stargazing tomorrow night, and I won’t have to sneak out at midnight just to see you, and…and we won’t fall in love.” Her voice cracked at the end, thick with emotion. Allison dropped her gaze, hoping the moonlight was too sparse for Scott to see the wetness trickling down her cheeks.

“Allison,” came Scott’s soft voice, “look at me.”

Allison sniffed. She shut her eyes as though blocking out the sight of the star-washed river would somehow make it so she and the other members of Beacon Hills weren’t leaving at daybreak, as though blinding herself to everything would somehow make it no longer reality.

“Please?” whispered Scott in a hushed voice. “For me?”

Allison opened her eyes, eyelashes heavy with tears. She hated feeling this weak, this vulnerable, even in front of the one person who’d already seen her at her worst.

Scott offered a watery smile. She admired his perpetual optimism even if she would never understand it. But maybe first loves weren’t meant to be understood, just felt to the bottom of your heart.  

He reached for her hand, and Allison took it, relishing the feeling of his palm kissing hers. The river sluggishly whispered sweet, familiar nothings. Resting her head on Scott’s shoulder, Allison murmured, “I can’t believe I’m never going to see you again.”

“Me neither.”

“Dad says we’ve already stayed too long,” Allison said numbly. She wasn’t sure why she was repeating the facts both she and Scott already knew. “The first hard frosts aren’t far away, and we have to find a new home before then or people will die.” It sounded so logical, something she had repeated a dozen times to herself. Yet that did jackshit for the ache sitting like a stone behind Allison’s ribs.

“I know.”

They sat quietly for a while, gazing at silver-stained place around them. The stench of burnt foliage still singed Allison’s nostrils if a breeze blew hard enough; Scott could no longer see the usual flicker of lights from the village.

Everything remained still—teetering on an edge, hesitating at a fork in the road. If only they knew which direction they were supposed to go.

“I’ll never forget you, you know,” Scott broke the silence finally. “Stiles will get better, the forest will grow back, my river will keep running, and I’ll never forget you, Allison Argent. Not tomorrow, not a hundred years from now.”

Smiling softly for the first time that night, Allison replied, “Nor will I, _mon chéri_. You gave me a love worth remembering, a love worth writing in the stars and carving in the moon.”

* * *

“The winds are shifting,” Derek observed, head tilted up to the sky. The cold winter breeze burned his nose like ice. Shivering, he hunkered closer to Stiles.

“Everything is changing,” Stiles commented. He flexed his hand, flicked his wrist, and smiled when small blades of bright green grass valiantly pushed through the ash and frost. Even in just the past week, he had made leaps and bounds with his magic. Winter was almost solidly upon them, but the forest seemed less barren and desolate than before. Frost sugared the ground every morning, but was no match for the winter flowers and berries obstinately blooming.

“Will we change with it or stagnate?” asked Derek.

Stiles scoffed. “Change, of course.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Are you?”

“The last major change in my life was my entire family dying and having to run for my life,” Derek responded flatly. “Sorry if I’m not exactly the biggest fan of change.”

Stiles winced. “Okay, bad example. But change is what nature does best. Seasons cycle, animals adapt, and life goes on.” A mouse nervously poked its twitching nose out of a burrow.

Derek nodded. “I think,” he reaches for Stiles’ hand, “if we survived a forest fire and Kate, we can survive whatever happens next. Together.”

“You sap,” teased Stiles. He snapped his fingers, a delicate flower blooming from the tip of his nail. He tucked it behind Derek’s ear, grinning.

Derek grumbled.

Laughing, Stiles kissed the end of Derek’s nose, the corner of his mouth, the bow of his lips. For the first time in a long while, Stiles felt like everything would be okay.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Kira whispered into Allison’s hair as she squeezed her in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to miss you so much. What will we do without you?”

“You guys’ll manage,” Allison chuckled wetly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

She nodded once at Malia, who stayed a few feet back. Allison couldn’t blame the coyote for being wary after all that she’d suffered through, so she was determined not to take it personally. But then Malia flashed her blue eyes and flicked one furry ear in a silent goodbye. Allison smiled.

“You were the best leader we could’ve ever asked for,” Liam said seriously, stepping forward to hug her tightly.

Mason nodded furiously as he replaced Liam. “You better come back to visit.”

Allison chuckled. “Of course.”

She nodded courteously to Brett. “Give Satomi my regards.”

Boyd turned to her next. “Look after my family, please,” he said in a soft, anguished tone. “Don’t let Alicia stay up past her bedtime no matter how much she begs. And Charlie needs to practice his multiplication tables every night. And Dad needs to take his blood pressure medication, and—”

“They’ll be okay,” interrupted Erica with a nudge. She met Allison’s gaze with a fiercely proud confidence. “They have Allison and her dad. Our families couldn’t be in better hands.”

Isaac nodded in agreement, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Allison’s cheek. “Just don’t forget about yourself every now and then. Everyone depends on you, but you can depend on them as well.”

“I’ll try my best,” Allison replied weakly. Her heart constricted as she looked at all the friends she was leaving behind.

Kira discreetly dabbed at her eyes. “Stay safe. May the winds be at your back, may the dice be kind, and may the gods turn the occasional blind eye.” The words felt almost foreign on her tongue as she recited the nearly orgotten phrase. It was an ancient mantra kitsunes would quote at important occasions: funerals, the eves of battles, weddings. Kira remembered reading about it somewhere and reckoned this qualified as a significant event.

Then it was just Scott and Allison, gazing at each other as if they were the only people in the world. And maybe, in that moment— _their_ moment—they were.

“I—” Scott cleared his throat, trying to force the words out. “I know we said our goodbyes last night because we thought it would make today easier. But it really doesn’t.”

“Can’t say we didn’t try,” Allison joked weakly, furiously wiping at the traitorous wetness clinging to her eyelashes. “I just… I’ve lost so many things in the past few months. My mom, my home. I don’t want to lose you too. I can’t.”

“Then stay,” pleaded Scott for the dozenth time, puppy dog eyes wide. But it was in vain, like all the attempts before.

“I can’t do that either,” she whispered helplessly, voice breaking as all her fears come spilling forward. Allison reeled on the cusp of crossroads, torn between her desires and obligations. “I can’t abandon my people, but I can’t leave you either. Mom always told me that Beacon Hills came first, that our duty was to protect our people, but she also told me to trust my gut instinct. So what am I supposed to do?”

“Allison,” Chris said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re right about all those things. Victoria knew you would make a great matriarch of Beacon Hills. But above all else, your mother would’ve wanted you to be happy.”

“I don’t want to let her down,” sniffed Allison, eyes red and puffy. She brushed back a stray strand of hair and gripped her crossbow tightly. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could go with you if I told myself it would make her proud. But, Dad, I don’t think I can.”

Chris cradled his daughter in his arms, hushing her and petting her hair. Allison hadn’t cried in years, not since she was a little girl. But she still was; underneath all the pain and death she’d witnessed, all the anguish and loss, Allison was still a little girl who looked up to her father to keep away the monsters under the bed. Sometimes, even he forgot that.

“I know, honey,” he kissed her forehead. “I know it hurts. Your mom and I raised you on tradition and your responsibility as a hunter. We never really gave you a choice in any of this because our Code doesn’t have room for it. But, if you ask me, I think you’ve earned the right to choose.”

“I want to stay here with Scott,” she breathed out raggedly. “I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

“Even more than your first real bow?”

Allison cracked a wan smile, rubbing at the wet streaks on her cheeks. “Even more than that. I love him.”

“I know you do,” sighed Chris. As much as Allison’s happiness meant to him, as certain as he’d been that Allison would decide to stay behind, it didn’t make parting with his last family member any less painful. It didn’t make it feel any less like he was losing everything. Chris took a steadying breath. “I was hoping you would come to your senses but…”

“Dad!” she admonished, playfully swatting him. Then she sobered. “So does this mean…?”

“This means goodbye.” Chris embraced Allison one last time. She buried her face in his chest. He circled her shoulders with his arms.“Stay in touch, you hear? Or else I’ll come back and hunt you down myself.”

“Of course,” she whispered, blinking back tears and sniffling surreptitiously. “Thank you. I’m gonna miss you so much. After Mom, I know it can’t be easy, but…”

“But this is your home,” Chris finished for her in a heartbroken but understanding voice. “Even I can see that, Allison.”

“It is,” she affirmed steadfastly. Allison glanced over her shoulder to gaze at Scott, who looked like he was afraid to breathe too loudly in case he woke up from this wonderful dream; Mason sagging against Brett with relief; Liam giving her thumbs up and Hayden offering a grudging nod; Kira’s beaming face as she knelt to bury a hand in Malia’s brown fur. They were her hodgepodge of a family—a little broken, a little mangled, but still a family. “This is where I belong.”

* * *

At first, the abandoned town hurt to look at: dark windows, empty rooms, lifeless streets. Beacon Hills only had a handful of supers compared to the rest of the human population. Satomi’s pack, Mason, and Hayden shacked up together in one of the larger homes near the town square. Allison, Scott, Kira, and Malia found a homey cottage next door. Parrish, Boyd, Erica, and Isaac settled into a place across the street. Jackson and Danny took up residence in the loft on the second story. All together, they took up a tiny fraction of the deserted buildings.

However, it didn’t take long for that to change. The very next day, a tiny coven of witches showed up at the rickety _Welcome to Beacon Hills_ sign just outside the town.

“Our scryer saw something here,” the lead crone explained vaguely. “She thinks something big is going to happen and doesn’t want us to miss it.”

Scott shrugged with an amicable smile. “Good enough for me.”

The three witches slid into the small community with ease, setting up a humble magic shop that sold cold cures and good luck charms. They took especially well to Mason, much to the chagrin of Brett, who complained that the herb miasma made his eyes water.

Like opening the floodgates, supers of all shapes and sizes poured in from the surrounding country. Sleek eastern dragons hissed and puffed smoke at Malia as they slithered in. A herd of butterfly-sized winged horses arrived on a puff of wind and playfully chewed on Liam’s hair. A _kumiho_ even showed up briefly, delighting Kira. The two babbled excitedly in Korean, lightning sparking from the _kumiho_ ’s nine tails.

Gradually, Beacon Hills came back to life. Candles flickered in the windows, chatter filled the rooms, active feet stamped life back into the snow-covered streets.

* * *

Two months after the fire and one month after the migration, Beacon Hills saw its first sign of hope. Just as the earth had creaked and groaned when the forest closed itself off, it creaked and groaned again to open. The familiar shudder of soil jolted Scott and Kira awake. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, and then they sprinted towards the front door of the cottage.

Together, they burst into the cool morning air. The icy air burned Kira’s lungs, a thousand pinpricks needling her throat. Malia waited for them outside, ears alert and shaggy coat hiding her still-too-skinny frame. She loped alongside them. Her paws sunk into powdery white as they ran through the heavy fog in the direction of the river. An invisible string tugged them along, guiding them to the source of the disruption.

By the time they reached the outskirts of town, the group had added Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Liam, Mason, Brett, Hayden, and the other Beacon Hills supers who remained behind. Their parade had also attracted several supers who had recently migrated into the area, drawn to Stiles’ fading energy signature. None of them had to exchange a word, instinctively sensing the energy swelling below the earth’s surface. It pulsed and ebbed, a tsunami gathering strength and biding its time.

They slowed to a halt at the crowded river bank. Scott blinked in surprise at the sheer number of supernatural creatures converged in one spot. Besides the Beacon Hills denizens, he spotted mermaids and elementals nervously swimming circles in the frigid water. A shy bunyip gnawed on an ice chunk in the shallows. Kira nudged his shoulder to surreptitiously point out a young chimera sitting in the river reeds, lion’s claws sunk into the stiff mud. Liam paled at the sight of a small flock of griffins, sleek wings occasionally shrugging off the falling snow. Malia inched curiously towards two brilliantly-feathered harpies until one bared her fangs at Malia, who scampered away. Kira offered an apologetic look, but the harpy turned her nose up haughtily.

But before Scott could more thoroughly examine the countless others, the charred trees began to sway in a nonexistent gale. Everyone fell silent. Every breath was held, every heart quickened—the calm before the storm.

Malia flinched at the first sharp crack of wood, tail tucked between her legs. She whined and leaned against Kira’s legs. A faun shifted its weight uneasily, leaving hoofprint-shaped indentations in the frost-stiff grass.

“Stiles?” Scott held his breath, senses straining for any indication of his missing best friend.

“Look, there!” Kira pointed as though any of them could miss the sleek shadow, stark against the shimmering white. It wove between the tree trunks, a specter halfway in their world and halfway in another. “It’s Derek.”

Malia’s ears perked up. She let out a short bark.

The massive wolf’s silhouette froze between trees, distinct and regal in the burgeoning morning light filtering behind it. Snow speckles drifted lazily down. Slowly, a second human-shaped figure joined it and rested a hand on the wolf’s head. Then the wolf tipped its head back, muzzle saluting the sky, and released a long, sonorous howl. The sound echoed and bounced off the charcoal trees, which looked brighter and less bleak than before.

Scott and Kira’s faces broke into identical beams, and Malia eagerly wagged her tail.Mason whooped and cheered while the werewolves responded with resonant howls of their own. Ecstatic, Scott tipped his head back and tried to imitate the sound as best he could with Kira giggling at his side. Even Hayden squeezed Liam’s hand with relief.

Beside them, the other supers voiced their own joy as well. The centaurs reared and shouted at the rising sun, the fauns danced with glee, the witches sent sparks into the air, and the harpies screeched and beat their wings. The ice crystals in the air sparkled and glittered.

Even when the two shadows faded from view, not quite ready to face the world, it didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like a promise.


End file.
